


Blackout

by edema_ruh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Breaking Up & Making Up, Christmas Fluff, Crying, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, Secret Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: After an argument, Grantaire loses his job because of Enjolras. The fact that they had been in a secret relationship for months before that just makes everything even more complicated.





	Blackout

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguely (emphasis on "vaguely") inspired by In The Height's "The Club/Blackout" song. You don't need to know the musical to understand the plot, though.

 

                The thing between Enjolras in Grantaire could only be described as complicated.

They started hating each other precisely four minutes and forty-six seconds after they first met, much to all their friends’ dismay. Enjolras’ idealism had made Grantaire’s skin tingle with second-hand embarrassment as well as it set his tongue lose to spill whatever arguments he had made up in the short time span, whereas Grantaire’s cynicism made irritation and anger boil deep beneath Enjolras’ ribs and was just as efficient on setting the leader’s tongue lose. Both Joly and Bossuet regretted introducing Grantaire to the Amis as soon as he and Enjolras started shouting arguments and points of view at each other not even ten minutes into the meeting, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were horrified to see their best friend losing his temper as easily as that. Grantaire might be the type of asshole to publicly refute people’s ideas just for the sake of it, but Enjolras had never been the one to take the bite that easily _. Ever_.

But despite of that first animosity, Grantaire still went to the meeting following the disastrous first one. And the following one. And the following one. Soon enough, the cynic became a regular presence at the ABC meetings and were considered a regular member of the Amis, no one bothering to question his presence anymore. Bahorel and Feuilly both grew warm towards him, even though they disagreed with every disbelieving comment the cynic made, and Jehan and Courfeyrac seemed to love the guy, always hugging him and embracing him affectionately as if he didn’t disagree with every single belief they stood up for. Combeferre very much enjoyed entering philosophical discussions with Grantaire, which would sometimes last hours to no end and always resulted on the both of them getting more enlightened on matters that they hadn’t been before. Where Enjolras responded to Grantaire’s sarcastic retorts with anger and irritation, Combeferre always did so with a curious “huh” and a well-elaborated argument. Not that Enjolras wasn’t very well-elaborated in his responses to Grantaire as well, but the whole shouting seemed to affect the efficiency of his arguments more often than not. Combeferre’s unparalleled calmness during debates always seemed to make it harder for Grantaire to come up with a witty response, as it was usual during his discussions, and so the only person to whom Grantaire ever admitted defeat was Combeferre, who came to grow very fond of the cynic despite of his constant quarrels with his best friend.

The only one who constantly questioned the reasons behind Grantaire’s (obnoxious, loud, unnecessary) presence was Enjolras, who always looked like he couldn’t figure out for the life of him the reasons behind Grantaire’s motivations. Whenever Grantaire got too irritating, Enjolras would remind him of his doubts regarding his presence, and for some unknown reason, that question Enjolras insisted on asking would often make something spark inside Grantaire’s eyes, resulting on the cynic angrily marching out of the Musain angrily while muttering unintelligible things about marble and ice.

The truth was: it took a long time for Grantaire to figure out what those angry, tingling and specially _fuming_ feelings he felt whenever Enjolras spoke about justice were. And once he _did_ figure out what they were, he was already too far gone, too lost in the memory of green eyes and perfect skin and frowning brows and righteous anger. It took him almost a year to come to terms with the fact that he was sustaining a deep, burning passion for Enjolras, and to his further mortification, he was greeted with nothing more than a scoff and an eye roll from Joly when he shared his epiphany about his feelings.

“ _Really_? You’re legit just figuring this out _now_?”, the young student had said, an eyebrow raising in disbelief.

“We thought you already knew that and was just… trying to be subtle about it, you know?”, Bossuet had added, almost apologetically.

“ _Subtle_? In what world?”, Joly had refuted with another scoff. “Have you _seen_ the way R looks at E whenever he speaks of justice? What about that one meeting where we were discussing that homophobic law and R looked like he had just found the entrance to Midas’ palace?”

“Oh, I remember that one!”, Bossuet had nodded enthusiastically. “His eyes were sparkling so bright and his long eyelashes were batting like a bird’s wings when Enjolras mentioned biphobia”, Bossuet said, gesturing exaggeratedly as if to make Grantaire look like a fairy tale princess.

“Ok, first of all, you two are terrible with metaphors”, Grantaire had finally recomposed enough to protest, trying his best to pretend that he wasn’t embarrassed by that subject. “Secondly, finding Midas’ palace isn’t necessarily a good thing, _Jolllly_ ”, he mocked. “He may be able to turn everything he touches into gold, but that means he could turn _me_ as well. And god forbid I become a statue just like Enjolras”, he had sighed in discontent.

“Don’t talk like that”, Joly had retorted, the conversation heading to a more serious tone than before. “Enjolras isn’t a statue. He just isn’t particularly fond of you going around and trying to contest every single word he says. If I were in his place, I wouldn’t be, either”, he had shrugged.

“If you ever intend to win Enjolras’ favors, you’d better change that attitude, young man”, Bossuet had advised with a wink, and after that, the conversation had headed back towards a friendly banter about other subjects that were lost to Grantaire in the haze of the alcohol.

But the biggest problem Grantaire was facing was: he didn’t want to change his attitude, and he wasn’t really sure he wanted to win Enjolras’ favors. He mentally scoffed whenever that particular idea appeared inside his mind: would he ever be able to accomplish such a thing? Was that even possible? Enjolras was made of marble and was as cold as such, there was no place in his carved heart for anything else other than Patria. Trying to win his love – was that it? Did he love Enjolras? – would be a fruitless endeavor that would only end up hurting Grantaire further. Grantaire wasn’t good enough for Enjolras, nor he would ever be. He was a drunkard, a cynic, and inherently useless. Enjolras was the sun, he burned with intensity and with passion, bringing light and warmness to whoever crossed his path. Grantaire saw how gentle and sympathetic Enjolras was to new attendees of the ABC meetings, in the exact same way he had been to Grantaire moments before the first argument took place. Enjolras was Achilles; Grantaire was Patroclus. If Grantaire was to attempt to achieve Enjolras’ greatness in order to deserve his affections, to be his equal, he would only end up bringing doom upon himself. Enjolras was Orestes; Grantaire was Pylades. Enjolras’ destiny was far greatest than Grantaire’s, and it didn’t matter what he hypothetically tried, Enjolras would always stray from him and seek to accomplish his duty. Just as Orestes yearned to bring justice for his father, Enjolras longed to bring justice for his mother, France. And as much as Grantaire was a disbelieving Pylades, he would never dare to put himself in the way of Enjolras’ crusade for justice. And yet, he wouldn’t bother to aid him in his arduous task, either. He was too much of a coward and a skeptic for that. He prayed for the deities that he didn’t believe in that he was wrong, and that in the end, Enjolras wouldn’t fail. But if he did, Grantaire would be there to pick up the pieces. An undesired Pylades indeed.

The only thing he could do, then, was admire Enjolras from afar, burn with the passion he emanated, and silently ache for him. Apparently, despite of his best efforts and much to his dismay, all the Amis were intensely aware of his infatuation for their leader (Grantaire refused to call it love. Love was requited, _wanted_ , whereas this thing with Enjolras was not), but apparently that was his own fault. According to reliable sources (i.e.: Joly and Bossuet), Grantaire was very blatant about his own feelings, always staring at Enjolras for longer than normal, pissing him off just to earn certain reactions, and “teasing him like a child would do to a middle-school crush”, as Jehan had so kindly put one night when they had had too much to drink. The only one who seemed to be completely oblivious about Grantaire’s sentiments was Enjolras himself. Which was frankly a relief, because Grantaire had no idea what he would do should Enjolras find out about his feelings for him. Obliviousness was something he could deal with, but rejection? Rejection had always consumed him. Rejection was hard and ruinous and painful, but rejection from _Enjolras_ , of all people? That would be the death of him. Rejection was real, whereas obliviousness still allowed a tiny spark of hope to remain. And even though Grantaire was the exact opposite of a hoper, there was only one thing he believed in – Enjolras. For that, things were better this way. They weren’t good or pleasant, but they were better like this, with Enjolras not knowing, and Grantaire not telling. And who cared if he was drinking more than he ever had before in his life, right?

However, things didn’t stay like that for too long. One year of not-so-secretly aching for Enjolras passed, before he found himself confronted by the leader in the back room of the Musain right after a meeting (a particularly heated one, in that case). They had argued during Enjolras’ speech, as it was their usual, but this time the fight hit a little bit closer to home, which was why Enjolras confronted him afterwards. In fact, “confronting” doesn’t exactly convey the feeling of Enjolras marching his way to Grantaire and very unceremoniously pushing him into the back room of the Musain, making the cynic’s back collide with the dusty wall behind him. Enjolras had managed to pin Grantaire against the hard surface despite being the smaller of the two of them. Grantaire’s heart had fluttered inside his chest, since Enjolras’ body was practically glued against his own inside that small, tight room, and there was some sort of hidden knowledge inside of Enjolras’ eyes that made Grantaire’s boiling blood immediately freeze inside his veins. Because Enjolras had stared up at him as if he knew Grantaire’s darkest secrets, as if he was “confronting” him to obtain confirmation, and Grantaire’s brain panicked and short-circuited upon the realization that _fuck, one of them must have snitched, one of them must have told him, god fucking dammit I bet it was Prouvaire’s romantic-obsessed ass_ –

“I want you to tell me why you still show up to meetings”, Enjolras had assertively requested (because Grantaire refused to admit he was taking _orders_ from Enjolras now; it was an _assertive request_ , not an _order_ ), and Grantaire realized with dread that his palms were sweating and his knees were weak. He hated himself a bit more for a moment, because since when did he allow himself to be so frightened or affected by anyone? Plus, it wasn’t like he could simply answer “because I have feelings for you”, or “because I love you”, or “because you have become everything to me and I can no longer imagine life without your presence even though all we do is fight and yell at each other and the only opportunity I ever have of seeing you is during these stupid meetings”. Enjolras had him cornered, and he had been silent for too long and panic was starting to grow from a puddle to a flood inside his chest and there was no way out of this, no way out of this, oh my god, what was he going to do, he was so _helpless_ –

Then, the worst happened. His goddamned impulsivity took over and before he even knew what he was doing, before he could regain control of his actions, he did the only thing he possibly could to get out of that hellish situation he had gotten himself into, which was attempting to kiss Enjolras as a way to simultaneously shut him up and answer his question.

Except Enjolras had decided to move his head forwards as if he was about to try and kiss Grantaire at that _exact same time_ , which resulted on them both painfully bumping their mouths against each other’s and backing up with synchronized yelps of “ouch!”. Grantaire had looked down at Enjolras then, horrified, one hand covering his throbbing lower lip and wide, surprised eyes staring at the blond man in front of him, who had a hand raised to his mouth in an accurately equal manner. They stared at each other for a long, long time that felt like an eternity, both gaping in an expression akin to horror, as if neither of them had been expecting to be kissed in return, or better – as if neither of them had been expecting that the other would have _wanted_ to be kissed. The only illumination in the room came from the weak, yellowish lamp hanging above their heads, and Enjolras’ face looked more beautiful than Grantaire ever remembered seeing, cheeks flushed in embarrassment and eyes wide with surprise and confusion. Grantaire finally whispered a very low, very throaty “shit” and basically launched himself towards Enjolras, pulling him into an embrace as he locked his lips with the leader’s in a messy first kiss.

That had happened in late October. They never talked about it. They never discussed it, and god forbid Grantaire from assuming he was in any sort of… _relationship_ with Enjolras. After that messy first kiss in the Musain (from which Enjolras had blushed deeply and fled the room without a word), they began to find themselves in the middle of intense make out sessions after particularly heated meetings, always in that same back room that now felt a bit like their dirty little secret. Sometimes, Grantaire would purposefully be more annoying than usual during meetings just so that Enjolras would give him that look that meant they were supposed to have a special, private “reunion” afterwards. The angrier Enjolras got with him, the more intense their kissing sessions became. Grantaire never told anyone about it, not even Bossuet or Joly, and he assumed Enjolras never told anyone as well. There was no reason for him to tell people about it, right? Why would he possibly want anyone to know that he was letting Grantaire kiss him in a small room after every other meeting? That would be just embarrassing for Enjolras. No, he was probably just using Grantaire as a stress relief, as a means to get rid of all the frustration and anger that Grantaire made him feel, and honestly? Grantaire didn’t mind. He didn’t mind _one bit_. They were both getting what they wanted, weren’t they? Enjolras was finding a way to get rid of his stress and Grantaire was getting to kiss the man he loved at least once a week. Nobody else needed to know about that. And if Grantaire went to sleep with Enjolras’ taste on his mouth and a hollow space inside his chest, nobody needed to know about that, either.

However, this thing with Enjolras, as most things in Grantaire’s life, didn’t last very long. In fact, it went out pretty atrociously. On Christmas, on the top of everything.

Since Grantaire was mostly broke, to the point of having to live with Joly and Bossuet as a favor, he had to work in two part-time jobs to do the bare minimum, which was helping his friends to pay rent. One of these jobs was working as a barista in the Musain during the day, which would actually be a bit pleasant, if it was not for the small salary it payed. The other one was… well. The other one was as a delivery boy for Enjolras’ father’s law firm.

In his defense, he had no idea that the firm belonged to Enjolras’ father, or he would have never applied for the job in the first place. But unfortunately, when he _did_ apply to the job due to the sheer desperation that his lack of money caused, Enjolras’ father hadn’t been there, and the HR lady had found him sympathetic and fit enough to be accepted in. It was a tiring job but it paid well, and it wasn’t like Grantaire was in the place of turning off a job offer just because it was for a clearly corrupt law firm. He really, really needed the money, and he didn’t exactly plan to stay there forever. He just needed enough money to sort his life out, maybe go back to college and finish his major or something that could actually give him a steady income. It was only one week after he started at the job, when he came back from an errand to an associate’s office, that he spotted a tall man who looked exactly like Enjolras, if only a bit more pale and sullen. After the initial shock and the subsequent suspicion, it only took Grantaire a quick, daring peek inside the man’s office when he wasn’t there to find a frame with Enjolras’ picture inside the drawer of the man’s working desk, which made his heart freeze with dread.

He knew that he was probably just being stupid because of the whole unrequited crush thing, but Grantaire didn’t want Enjolras to know that he was working for his father. Firstly, because if anything, Enjolras didn’t seem like the type of person who got along well with his rich-enough-to-own-a-successful-and-corrupt-law-firm father, being the rebellious youngling he always showed himself to be. Enjolras was very possibly the black sheep of his family, if Grantaire’s deductive powers were anything to go by, and he’d probably hate Grantaire for getting involved or having anything to do with his father or his firm, even if Grantaire had only spoken to Mr. Enjolras Sr. once in his entire life. That would be taking a step too far in their fragile, non-relationship, wouldn’t it?

Secondly, how _embarrassing_ was it to work for the father of the man with whom Grantaire made out secretly on a weekly basis? Every time Enjolras’ father passed by him, Grantaire could only imagine what Enjolras’ reaction would be, if he were to find out about this job of his. Things with Enjolras were already complicated and unspoken enough; Grantaire didn’t want to make them even worse. And it wasn’t like they were good at talking things out. All they did was yell at each other and kiss until both their lips were bruised; they didn’t _do_ talking. They barely even hung out together unless all the other Amis were present as well, and whenever they expressed affection, they did so hidden, whether in small cabinets or Courfeyrac’s tiny kitchen during sleepovers. It was better if Enjolras never learned about Grantaire’s second job, because he didn’t want to do explanations or apologies. He didn’t want to force Enjolras to do something he didn’t want to, such as turning things with Grantaire official. And he didn’t want to lose whatever little contact he had with Enjolras, either. He didn’t want to lose the freedom to touch him, to kiss him, which was exactly what would happen if Enjolras found out about this job. Grantaire was selfish like that.

Eventually, Enjolras did find out, of course. And since irony seemed to love following Grantaire around, he not only found out _after_ the worst fight they ever had, which, for the first time in months, didn’t result in secret kisses on the back of the Musain, but it also happened right before Christmas.

Things at the café had been heated the night before because of an upcoming protest that Enjolras and his merry men had been planning for weeks. Grantaire had been drunk, of course, which in turn resulted on him saying things he didn’t really put much thought on, and that he definitely ended up regretting.

“Oh, yeah, sure”, Grantaire had said with an exaggerated eye roll, after Enjolras delivered a particularly idealistic comment. “Because everyone will _definitely_ leave their houses on a Sunday morning in the middle of Christmas break to follow a group of nobodies into a protest that will change nothing”.

“Pardon me?”, Enjolras had raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side politely, clearly doing his best not to lose his temper immediately. Usually, that would be nothing other than a sign that Grantaire had succeeded in pissing Enjolras off, but there was something about the leader’s eyes on that night that made Grantaire’s skin tingle with awkwardness. Almost as if Enjolras was taking him seriously after all the times he pretended to be angry just to make out with Grantaire.

The cynic had scoffed and taken a long sip of his beer before bothering to reply, well aware that all eyes in the Musain were glued to him. Combeferre had sighed heavily and pinched his fingers on the bridge of his nose, whereas Courfeyrac had simply let himself fall against the back of his chair, head hanging from his shoulders.

“If you’re planning to change the world, at least do it on a business day”, Grantaire had scoffed sarcastically. “People love an excuse to skip work, and even if your little protest isn’t that interesting, it’s still better than being stuck inside an office”.

“Is this what we are doing means to you?”, Enjolras had laughed humorlessly, an incredulous expression on his face, right before squinting his eyes in disbelief. “An excuse to skip work? A second alternative to a boring responsibility?”

Grantaire had blinked for a few seconds, feigning deep thought.

“Guess so, yeah”, he had shrugged, a wicked smile growing on his lips as he saw the way Enjolras’ face reddened. He loved when Enjolras went all blushy and fuming from anger. It always meant that he would go as far as giving Grantaire a hickey, for example, as a little petty revenge for Grantaire’s loud mouth. Enjolras’ little revenges always drove Grantaire to the edge.

But that day was different, though. On that day, Enjolras didn’t take Grantaire’s usual teasing for what it was – teasing. No, on that day, Enjolras had been pissed off, most probably because of his father, as Grantaire would happen to learn soon, and he hadn’t taken Grantaire’s purposefully obnoxious remark as a teasing. He had taken the words to the heart.

“No wonder why you’re broke”, Enjolras had spat out venomously, clearly _way_ more affected by Grantaire’s words than the cynic had expected. “If I had someone as incompetent and unprofessional as you working for me, I would fire you, too”.

Grantaire had stared at Enjolras for a long while after that, as if the man had just thrown a bucket of ice cold water on his face. Frankly, he had been quite surprised by this sudden rebuttal. Enjolras hadn’t been that harsh to him ever since they started… well, since they started whatever it was that was going on between them. But the fact was, ever since they first kissed, Enjolras had never responded to Grantaire’s witty retorts with something worse than an eye roll or a snappy comment to shut him up. He’d stopped scolding at him and got back at him by driving him crazy at that damned back room, and Grantaire had grown used to being kissed by Enjolras, rather than being snapped at. Sometimes, when Grantaire was too annoying, he’d give him a glare or a sigh, but he hadn’t responded that aggressively in months. He hadn’t actually _hurt_ Grantaire in months.

Furthermore, the irony behind Enjolras’ words had made Grantaire skip a beat, because he worked for _Enjolras’ father_ , of all people, and it sucked, but it was the best-paying job he had gotten in a long while. He had actually helped with the rent for once, and the look of sheer gratitude in Joly’s face had been worth all the heavy work he had done for the law office. To know that Enjolras could make him lose that job with a snap of his fingers, and the fact that Enjolras had just implied he would do just that, made something uneasy settle in the pit of the cynic’s stomach.

“What a funny thing for you to say”, Grantaire had responded, too shakily, and too long after Enjolras spat his venom, but he had. His voice was off and he knew that the others could see how upset Enjolras had made him, but he couldn’t make a fool of himself by lowering his head like a dog whenever Enjolras was harsh to him. A renewed courage appeared inside of him upon the realization that Enjolras had already used him enough. He could deal with being Enjolras’ stress relief, or he could deal with being his verbal punching bag. He couldn’t deal with being either. “I thought you were one to fight for the _proletariat_ , not the bourgeoisie”, he pointed the words with a mandatory sarcastic smile that didn’t quite reach his glistening eyes.

Another silence had followed, this time longer and tenser. Enjolras had taken an angry step towards him, despite of Combeferre’s low call of his name and Courfeyrac’s even more exasperated sigh.

“I fight for those who work hard and don’t deserve the injustice the government puts them through every single day, with unfair taxes that aren’t returned at the end of the year”, Enjolras had said through gritted teeth, and _oh_ , this discussion was turning into a goldmine for retorts.

“Are you saying that _I_ deserve the government’s injustice?”, Grantaire had said with an offended look that was clearly exaggerated, opening his mouth wide and taking a hand to his chest. He had been able to hear the muttering and the sighing around him, but he didn’t care. Maybe Enjolras got tired of him. Maybe he suddenly decided he didn’t want Grantaire anymore. But this gave him no right to treat Grantaire like this after everything they went through the past months. And yes, they _hadn’t_ ever been in a relationship, and Grantaire knew that, but still, they had… something. Something unnamable, something undiscussable, something secret, but it was _something_ all the same. Enjolras’ sudden harshness made him feel betrayed somehow. Hurt. Angry. Upset.

“Of course not”, Enjolras had tried to defend himself, clearly embarrassed, but being the little shit he was, Grantaire hadn’t let him finish.

“I don’t know, it sounded to me like you were actually defending the government’s unfair taxing laws”, he had shrugged, finishing his beer in one gulp. “It sounded like you were taking the side of the _exploiters_ , and leaving your hard-working fellowmen behind. Isn’t that what you guys got from it, too?”, he raised a glass, nodding at the rest of the attendees in the Musain. His eyes locked with someone with whom Grantaire was almost sure Enjolras might have had a crush on, if Enjolras was one to do crushes. “Feuilly?”, he asked, with a bitter, teasing smile.

“You know very well that is not what I meant”, Enjolras had barked angrily, taking another step towards Grantaire. His eyes were darting madly between Grantaire and Feuilly, and for some reason, that hurt. It was clear that Grantaire had managed to get under his skin.

“Do I, now?”, Grantaire had retorted, staring up at Enjolras defiantly and finally dropping the sarcastic mask to allow the seriousness and frustration to seep through his eyes. “Do _I_ know what you meant, Enjolras? Do I know _anything_ about your _intentions_?”

Enjolras had looked like he had been slapped then, from the way all blood seemed to leave his face to concentrate in one deep blush. Almost as if he was afraid that Grantaire would spill their little secret in front of everyone. Almost as if he was _embarrassed_ by that mere idea.

“I… I don’t think I know what you mean”, he had said, voice so much lower than his previous assertive tone that everyone noticed the contrast.

“Oh, of _course_ you don’t”, Grantaire had laughed bitterly, throwing his head back. “And you know what? Neither do I. Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted”. And with that, he had stood up and left, because he was afraid that Enjolras would agree with him and tell him never to return to their meetings. And a life without Enjolras was an unbearable notion. It would be better to leave before Enjolras had the chance to kick him out forever, because even if he would no longer be able to hold Enjolras in his arms and kiss him anymore, at least he would still be able to see him, right?

Because Enjolras _clearly_ didn’t want to continue that complicated thing between them, or he wouldn’t have snapped at Grantaire that way. Grantaire had said worst things to him in the past, and Enjolras had never cut him off like that, even during his bad days. This was a clear period mark on their non-relationship, and Grantaire was totally fine with that. Completely fine. Absolutely fine. He had never, ever felt finer in his entire life. He was super fine, really.

He wasn’t.

When he got to work on the law firm the following day, after a tiring shift at the Musain, he looked like crap. There were dark marks beneath his eyes from the lack of sleep and his hangover, and he didn’t even bother to try and hide the fading hickey Enjolras had given him three days before, on the meeting previous to the fatidic discussion. His head was throbbing and his eyelids were drooping with each blink. The firm was full of work to do, since it was the last day of work before Christmas break, and he barely listened to Enjolras’ father’s secretary as she told him to drop a document at another firm that was halfway across the city. When Grantaire  came back from his errand, it took him longer than it usually would to notice that there was something wrong.

The secretary, as well as the other lawyers who were in the firm at the time, had their eyes glued on the door of their boss’s room, and it was only when Grantaire followed their line of sight that he realized that there was muffled shouting coming from inside the room. Which was something Grantaire had never witnessed before, since Enjolras’ father was possibly the most composed man he had ever seen, after Combeferre.

And then the door burst open and Grantaire flinched in surprise at the sudden, unexpected movement, only to freeze on the spot a second later, because out of all people, it was Enjolras who emerged from the room, looking furious and blushed and fuming like Grantaire had never seen him, even during their discussions. Enjolras’ face, frozen in anger, quickly dropped into an extremely confused frown as soon as his angry eyes met Grantaire’s, and he halted his angry march out of his father’s office to a full stop out of the pure shock of seeing Grantaire standing there, a folder full of papers in one hand.

“Grantaire?”, he asked, clearly confused.

 _Enjolras?_ , Grantaire wanted to reply, but didn’t, because his tongue became cotton due to shock and fear, and because this was definitely not the way he had hoped Enjolras would find out about this whole working-for-his-father situation.

And then Enjolras’ father emerged from the office as well, looking like he was ready to continue whatever lecture he had been giving his son inside, only to stop as frozen in the spot as Enjolras when he spotted his son and Grantaire awkwardly staring at each other from across the room.

“What are you doing here?”, Enjolras asked, frowning deeper and sounding almost suspicious. He paid his father no attention.

“You know my son?”, Enjolras’ father asked in a demanding tone, after darting his eyes between Enjolras and Grantaire, sounding almost offended that his son had any sort of relationship with a mere delivery boy that worked for him. Grantaire, however, was still too shocked to answer, and kept his eyes glued on Enjolras, who looked suspicious and confused. “Answer me”, Enjolras’ father demanded sharply, upon realizing that Grantaire wouldn’t reply to his question, and his sudden command made Grantaire flinch in surprise once more.

“I… I-I”, Grantaire began, not knowing what to say. He decided to focus on Enjolras instead. “I mean, I work. Here. I… work here”, Grantaire said, swallowing dry, and Enjolras’ face paled slightly.

“You work here”, Enjolras repeated in a monotone, disbelieving, at the same time his father demanded: “I asked you a question, boy!”

“Y-yes, I… I know him”, he blurted out, eyes running nervously from father to son.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, Enjolras was the one who spoke up first after seconds of silence, sounding hurt and betrayed, but before Grantaire could manage to say anything else, his father spoke up.

“Oh please, Enjolras, tell me he’s not one of those mindless followers who attend to those ridiculous meetings about anarchy and communism”, he rolled his eyes.

“I have already told you a hundred times that this isn’t about anarchy, it is about giving the people –“, Enjolras started.

“I do not have the time for your nonsense today”, his father cut him off, closing his eyes in impatience and turning to Grantaire. “Do you attend my son’s silly revolutionary group or not?”

“I… I don’t think… I mean…”, Grantaire started, clearly uncomfortable.

“He does”, Enjolras intervened, sparing Grantaire one last betrayed look before staring up at his father. “And what would be the problem with that?”

“The problem is that I will no longer have a mindless anarchist under my employment. Sandra, the boy is fired. Get the paperwork done”, Enjolras’ father announced to his secretary, unceremoniously turning around and walking back into his office. Enjolras simply stood there, staring at his father’s back in disbelief, whereas Grantaire only had a few seconds to blink and gape in surprise before he immediately rushed forwards to chase the older man into his office, uninvited, paying no attention to Enjolras himself for the first time in his life.

“Sir, please, you don’t have to do this”, Grantaire actually _begged_ , even though he felt deeply humiliated, because he really, really, _really_ needed this job, as shitty as it was. It didn’t even pay that well, but it paid enough for him to be able to help Joly if only a little bit and he really fucking _needed it_ on that moment.

“Did I invite you into my office, boy?”, Enjolras’ father raised a single eyebrow, showing  disdain. Grantaire heard Enjolras following him inside and was well aware of all the eyes in the office still planted on them, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to lose this job, not at Christmas, for god’s sake. He had promised Combeferre, that year’s host of the Amis, to help with the food and the booze. He had promised Joly to help with the rent. He had promised many people many things. If he didn’t need the money as much as he did, he would already be telling Enjolras’ father to go fuck himself, but he really, _really_ needed the money and for this, he hated himself a little bit more.

“Please, sir, just listen”, Grantaire said, knowing just how pathetic he sounded. “I don’t even agree with what they say on those meetings, they’re just a silly past time, I’ve done my work perfectly and I never gave you any reasons to fire me, just give me a chance –“

“Perfectly?”, Enjolras’ father cut him off with a snort. “You deliver documents from an office to another; _that_ is your perfect work. Even an ape could do it, with proper training. Actually, I might as well hire one once you leave; at least apes aren’t stupid enough to think communism is the solution to anything”.

“I have already _told you_ what we do is not about _communism_ –“, Enjolras barked angrily.

“Sir, please, just let me prove myself –“, Grantaire continued to plead.

“Grantaire, for god’s sake, stop calling him sir!“, Enjolras intervened, frowning and sounding almost worried about Grantaire’s unusual show of respect.

“Tell me this, boy”, Enjolras’ father sighed, sitting down at his chair. “If you don’t… share my son’s political views”, he shrugged vaguely, “then what is the reason you attend to those meetings?”

And there it was, the dreaded question that everyone insisted on asking and that Grantaire didn’t have a plausible answer to. If he hadn’t been able to confess his feelings to Enjolras himself, how could he confess them to the man’s _father_?! Grantaire was cornered once again, and this time he couldn’t kiss his way out of this. He helplessly turned his head to look at Enjolras, who was staring at him with an expectant look that mimicked his father’s perfectly. Grantaire swallowed dry, feeling the blood run from his face as he turned back to face his boss.

“I really need this job”, Grantaire answered instead, well aware of how evasive those words were. “This is my only real source of income at the moment, Christmas is in two days and I’ve already bought the presents and the food, and if I lose I won’t be able to pay my debts because the Musain doesn’t pay enough to –“

“That doesn’t answer my question”, Enjolras’ father interrupted him, untouched, and Grantaire lowered his head, because how could he face this man when he made Grantaire so humiliatingly vulnerable and exposed in front of the man he loved the most in the world? Grantaire never _begged_ , Grantaire never _pleaded_ , Grantaire never showed respect. But he was mature enough to realize that if he lost his job, he would lose everything, the dream to go back to college and get a better life for himself, the fulfilment of being a productive member of society rather than a parasite and a waste of space. He would even lose Enjolras, but that was unavoidable now, because how could Enjolras ever forgive him for hiding something like that from him?

“All my friends attend”, Grantaire bullshitted, aware of how empty and fake the words sounded. “It’s just a pastime, an opportunity to get wasted and discuss utopic ideas”, he shrugged. But in his heart, he knew that this wasn’t the answer _Enjolras_ expected to hear from him. Whenever he asked Grantaire that question, the skeptic could see a tiny glisten of hope inside the leader’s eyes, almost as if he believed could prove himself to be so much more than he let on. But Grantaire couldn’t. He would never be able to attend to Enjolras’ expectations and be the man he hoped Grantaire to be. His eyes turned to lay upon Enjolras against his will, and the only feeling stronger than the pain of seeing the deep disappointment in Enjolras’ eyes was the anxiety of being fired threatening to tear his heart in two.

“Oh, I see it now”, Enjolras’ father said after seconds of embarrassing silence. He got up from his chair elegantly, making his way to where Grantaire was still standing. Suddenly aware that his eyes were locked with Enjolras’, Grantaire bowed his head. With one finger and a harsh propping, Enjolras’ father tilted Grantaire’s chin up so that they could lock eyes. The eye contact only lasted for a brief second, though, before Enjolras’ father averted his eyes to Grantaire’s neck, nose scrunching in something akin to disdain.

“Father, you don’t have to fire him just because of me”, Enjolras tried to intervene, probably (and finally) realizing how important that job was for Grantaire. If there was something he had learned from Grantaire after all their discussions, was that the man didn’t bow or beg to _anyone_. If he had recurred to that, humiliating himself and showing weakness in front of Enjolras, the one person whose opinion mattered to him, then it must mean that job mattered a lot to him. “He’s telling the truth, he doesn’t even believe in our cause, all he does is disrupt meetings and disagree with me and he’s more of a nuisance than anything el –“

“He’s fired”, Enjolras’ father cut his son off unceremoniously, sparing Grantaire one last disdainful look before letting go of his chin. “Talk to Sandra; she will provide you with due payment for this month and that’s it. I don’t want you showing up here again, and don’t even start to think about a lawsuit because, in case you haven’t figured out yet, we’re one of the best firms in the city. Have a nice day”.

“Father!”, Enjolras exclaimed helplessly, at the same time Grantaire growled out a frustrated and desperate “You can’t do this”.

“Turns out I can”, Enjolras’ father shrugged nonchalantly. “I won’t have someone that shows up to work hungover and carrying around visible hickeys under my employment”, he said, and Grantaire’s hand immediately reached for his neck, his face growing even more pale. He had forgotten about the bloody hickey, he was supposed to hide it as he always did – “Especially if my son was the one to put that hickey there”.

There was a pregnant pause, and then:

“Father, just listen to me, this isn’t –“, Enjolras attempted to intervene once more.

“Enjolras, frankly”, the man rolled his eyes. “I raised you to be politer than this. You are intimate enough with this boy to go around messing with his neck, but go around calling him a nuisance and a disruption?”, he snorted. “That is no way to treat your… _boyfriend_ ”, the man spat the word as if it was venomous. “I also hoped that you would do better than a… _delivery boy_ , since you insist on this same-sex nonsense –“

“He’s not my boyfriend”, Grantaire cut the man off, a new courage awakening inside him, because he was tired of being polite and begging. This man was humiliating him for no reason other than getting back at Enjolras, and honestly? Enjolras had already fucked him up enough. He didn’t need his father humiliating him too on the top of everything else.

“I’m sorry?”, Enjolras frowned, turning his head to look at Grantaire and sounding actually _offended_. Grantaire, in return, mimicked his confused frown and stared back at him, blinking dumbly. And oh no, _oh no_ , they definitely weren’t going to do that on that moment. They had months, _months_ to sort their shits out, to actually _talk_ to each other and figure out what they should call that complicated thing between the two of them, and Grantaire absolutely refused decide whether or not he and Enjolras were boyfriends _in the middle of Enjolras’ father’s office as he pleaded for his job._

“Really, Enjolras?”, Grantaire had spat, not bothering to keep the anger and disbelief from his tone. “You made sure you kept this whole thing between us a secret so far, but you go and decide to call me your boyfriend right now, in front of your clearly homophobic father who has my job in his hands?”

“I didn’t want to keep it a secret, you were the one who wanted to keep it a secret!”, Enjolras protested, offended and confused.

“What?! When did I ever say that?”, Grantaire protested back, turning to Enjolras.

“You didn’t need to say it, your intentions were clear!”, Enjolras scoffed.

“Oh, _my intentions_ were clear, weren’t they?”, Grantaire scoffed sarcastically. Suddenly all that mattered in the world was Enjolras’ arrogant face with his stupid angelic chin tilted upwards in defiance and his intense gaze locked on Grantaire. “That’s fucking precious coming from you. My intentions must have been _clear as the fucking day_ compared to yours, that’s for sure”, he shook his head, ignoring (and almost missing) the way Enjolras’ father sighed heavily. There was a bitter smile tinging Grantaire’s lips as he spoke the words, while taking every single inch of Enjolras’ face in as he spat out the words he had been keeping bottled inside him for so long. This was hardly the best occasion to have this talk, but fuck it. _Enjolras_ had brought it upon himself, not Grantaire. “You’re the one who keeps yelling insults at me at every chance you get, and then decide out of the blue that you want to snog me in the cabinet closet, only to go back at yelling at me as soon as there are people around! How the hell am I supposed to assume that’s a sign you want to have a _public relationship_ with me, when the only thing you ever do when we are in public is mistreat me?”

“That’s not true”, Enjolras protested, but the words lacked their previous certainty.

“But god forbid me from trying to find a decent job, rather than _wasting my life away on booze_ as you so lovely insist on reminding me all the time”, he let his arms fall heavily and angrily at his sides. “No. God forbid me from having one single good fucking thing in my life, because it always comes to you, doesn’t it, Enjolras? As much as you don’t believe me when I tell you so, you _are_ a fucking god, because my life doesn’t seem to stop revolving around you no matter how I try. Apollo incarnated in front of me”, he gestured at Enjolras with an exaggerated hand wave, arms dropping noisily beside his thighs and tears already pooling in his eyes despite of his best efforts. Despite of the moisture in his eyes, his voice remained steady, and had his vision not been so blurry he would have noticed that Enjolras, too, was on the brink of tears, a look of deep sadness and confusion on his face. “I always have to choose. It’s either you or my personal beliefs, it’s either you or having no friends at all, it’s either you or my fucking job”, he snorted, running the back of his hand against his nose and then again his eyes. He suddenly felt like a helpless child. God damn his inability to shut his mouth whenever he needed to do it the most. “It’s either snogging you because it’s the only scrap of closeness to you I can ever have, or having a broken heart. And I’m fucking tired, because my heart keeps getting broken any way, no matter what choice I make. And I’m tired of having it break over you”, he managed to hold back a sob, voice cutting sharply on the last word.

“This isn’t fair”, Enjolras whispered, shaking his head and staring at Grantaire as if the cynic had just hit him. There were tears running down his blushed face, and the sight made Grantaire’s heart skip a beat, because Enjolras was… Enjolras. He never cried. He was cold as marble, cold as ice, cold as Grantaire’s bed felt all the nights he went to sleep by himself. He didn’t cry. Why was he _crying_? “None of it’s fair. I’m not this monster you just described”, he said, actually letting out a tiny sob that made Grantaire’s heart clench.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, sort this out of here, will you?”, Enjolras’ father protested. “I actually have work to do”.

“Oh, shut it, father!”, Enjolras snapped, clearly distressed, and even his father seemed surprise at the sudden outburst. Grantaire merely stared at Enjolras, trying to keep the tears from running down his cheeks. “None of what you said is true”, Enjolras turned back to Grantaire, shaking his head.

“Are you calling me a liar, now?”, Grantaire scoffed.

“None of it’s true, Grantaire”, Enjolras took a step towards him, reaching out, as if he wanted to help Grantaire see the truth. The cynic took a step back, and Enjolras hand dropped helplessly on his side. “I never imagined this is what you took me for”, he continued after some time, head lowered. “All the things I say, about your drinking and your smoking and your unhealthy life style, is because I care about you, don’t you see? I now realize I may come off as too harsh, but I swear to you, I have the best of intentions”, he stared up at Grantaire, eyes pleading for him to understand. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I was… using you. I can assure you, I was not”, he shook his head. “I never meant for you to think I felt anything other than…”, he cut himself short, blushing.

“Other than what, Enjolras?”, Grantaire urged, heart racing. As angry and upset as he was, his foolish heart yearned to listen to the rest of that phrase. Maybe… Maybe there was still hope for him. For them. Was there even a them? Would there ever be?

But Enjolras didn’t reply. He stared deep into Grantaire’s eyes, looking sad, but his lips remained still and his tongue uttered no words. His silence was almost pleading, as if he was begging Grantaire to understand without having to use words.

“Other than _what_?”, Grantaire urged, because he was done with this. He was done with silence and misinterpretations and this whole uncommunicative state that he had put up with so far. He was done with Enjolras presuming what he wanted, and he was done with presuming what _Enjolras_ wanted, and he was done with this thing between them being unsaid. If Enjolras had thought Grantaire was the one who wanted to keep their relationship secret, then maybe Enjolras _hadn’t_ wanted it to be a secret himself. Maybe he wasn’t just using Grantaire for his own amusement. But Grantaire needed confirmation. He needed to hear it. He needed to hear the words.

He had longed for those words all his life. He needed them. He needed them now more than ever. They were his only light in a black pit of hopelessness.

“I am sorry, but I can’t do this right now”, Enjolras said, voice breaking, and no, that wasn’t right. Because the words Grantaire had been expecting were “I love you”, not a messy attempt of an excuse, but before he could even compute what was happening, Enjolras turned on his heels and fled the room, leaving Grantaire all alone with his father.

He was aware that the elder man was talking to him, but the words he was saying went unheard. It was as if his ears had been enveloped by a dome, and he could hear nothing other than the rushed beating of his own heart. His blank gaze followed Enjolras as the man excused himself amongst the crowded workers standing outside the office, bumping his way to the elevator with a red face and tears in his eyes. Once he disappeared from Grantaire’s view, he continued to stare at the blank spot in which Enjolras had been standing just a few seconds before, completely unaware of what his former boss was telling him in a stern voice. It was almost as if Grantaire hoped that staring at the empty space where Enjolras had been would make the man magically reappear in the room. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. It was foolish to hope that.

It was foolish to hope at all.

Completely ignoring Enjolras’ father, who was still speaking, Grantaire walked out of the office, slowly and almost dreamily, unaware everything and everyone around him. He headed to the secretary’s desk, who was staring up at him with apologetic eyes and a sympathetic expression. He didn’t tell her anything, and simply stared at her blankly, waiting for the papers to sign. As if reading his thoughts, she handed him the papers, and he signed them, returning them right away.

“I’m sorry, dear”, she said with honesty.

“My payment”, Grantaire replied, voice monotone and alien to his own ears. He sounded devoid of any emotions.

“Pardon me?”, she frowned.

“He said I have a right to this month’s payment. I would like to have it right away, please”, Grantaire explained, hating how detached he sounded. The secretary blinked and, after a moment of fussing with some documents, stood up from her desk.

“I’ll see what I can do, hun”, she announced before going inside the office.

Grantaire did his best not to get mad at the looks he was still receiving, but the people judging him couldn’t be the farthest subject on his mind. All he could think of was Enjolras, Enjolras crying, Enjolras red faced and accusing Grantaire of calling him a monster, Enjolras angry and Enjolras upset and Enjolras confused and Enjolras fleeing. Enjolras denying him. Enjolras rejecting him. Enjolras making him lose his job and then running away. Enjolras ruining him once again.

God, there was only one way to get rid of the empty ache inside of his chest, one way to get rid of the throbbing pain inside his heart. And he had promised Joly he wouldn’t drink too much during Christmas, that he would try to quit, that he would be better and more responsible in the new year that was to begin. But being better and responsible had done him no good, had it? All he had earned from being responsible was Enjolras quitting him and losing his job. Also, he was about to earn his last decent salary just after a heartbreak; how could he pass up this great opportunity to get shitfaced? He would definitely let Joly down on this one, but hey, disappointment was just one of the occupational hazards of being Grantaire’s friend after all.

 

-

 

The club was full of people, which was really surprising given it was the middle of the week and almost Christmas, but Grantaire wasn’t going to start complaining now. The only thing he wanted was to get his mind numbed down to the specific kind of nothingness only alcohol seemed to be capable of providing him, and the thumping sound of the music vibrated through the walls and the floor of the nightclub. He wanted to lose himself in the music, the vibrations, the people sweating, jumping and dancing as if there was no tomorrow, but instead, he merely sat by the bar, nursing a bottle of beer and urging for something stronger.

He had been sitting in a bar for the entirety of the afternoon before the club finally opened its doors, which meant he was already tipsy by the time he got there. Grantaire was notorious for being able to drink like a sailor and rarely get shitfaced; in fact, it took him quite _a lot_ to get in that embarrassing state of intoxication. He might be reckless but he wasn’t dumb, and he knew what sort of damage those endeavors could – and would – end up causing to his liver. This was precisely the reason why Joly had begged him to be more mindful about his drinking habits, but Joly was the last thing on Grantaire’s mind on that moment. Actually, there was nothing specific on his mind, which was already dazed and unfocused from the amount of alcohol he had already consumed.

He was no longer sure of how long he had been on the club, but he would guess it had been quite some time, because the bartender started to make small talk to him.

“Rough day today?”, the man asked, and looking up to face him, rather than keeping his head hanging from his shoulders, Grantaire realized that he was attractive. Except he had brunette hair and brown eyes, which unfortunately did not seem to be his type.

“Yeah”, Grantaire nodded, downing the rest of his beer in one large gulp before dragging the empty bottle towards the bartender. “In fact, give me something stronger”.

“Whatcha want, brother?”, the man disposed of the empty bottle.

“I don’t know”, Grantaire shrugged, leaning back on the stool. “I just got what was possibly my last decent salary, so just give me something strong enough to forget that I just got what was my last decent salary”, he chuckled humorlessly.

“Right”, the man said, grabbing some bottles Grantaire didn’t bother to try and recognize and fixing him a drink. He kept gazing at Grantaire, as if trying to decide whether or not he was physically fit to have another drink. Before he could ask, Grantaire sighed.

“Look, I can handle it”, he told the man, but the words didn’t sound too convincing from the way he slurred them. “I can handle anything. I’m tougher than I look”.

“You look tough enough”, the man smiled sympathetically. “I was just wondering how much you’ve had to drink already”.

“Clearly not enough”, Grantaire buried his head between his hands, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself. The bartender handed him his drink and, without properly thinking about it, Grantaire downed it all in one go. He assumed it was something with vodka and strawberry, but he couldn’t be really sure. It still wasn’t enough to smother the ache in his chest, though. “Ugh, I said something stronger”, he complained.

“I’m not sure if –“, the man attempted.

“I said I can handle it”, Grantaire mumbled, fishing a handful of bills from his pocket and setting it on the counter. The man eyed the money carefully, and took longer inspecting Grantaire’s face, but decided to do as he was being told. Grantaire didn’t bother staring back at him, and an awkward silence ensued. The club’s music was still blasting as loudly as it would go, but for Grantaire’s drunken ears, the sound was nothing more than background noise.

He felt lonely. He felt sad, angry and frustrated all at the same time. The rational part of his mind was screaming at him to save the money, to stop wasting it on drinks that he would regret later. He needed that money. He had worked hard for it. He also worked at the Musain, the last he remembered, and he actually had a shift on that night. Even if he wanted to attend to it, he wouldn’t be able to make it – he was too drunk, and getting fired from another job wasn’t exactly on the top of his list. They couldn’t fire him if he didn’t show up, could they? Since he couldn’t call the café and say he was sick, due to the incriminating and deafening sound of pop music blasting on the background, Grantaire’s immediate drunk decision was to text Joly.

**To: Jolllly (01:13a.m.) pls can u call the msuain and tell em im sick**

The bartender handed him the glass with his new drink at the same time his phone pinged with a response.

**From: Jolllly (01:13a.m.) Why? What happened?**

Before Grantaire could reply, a torrent of texts flooded his phone. He should have thought this through before texting Joly, of all people, but whenever Grantaire hit rock bottom, the first and only person he could ever imagine pulling him out was Joly. He didn’t deserve the guy’s friendship; he didn’t deserve anything from him, but still, Joly seemed to be the only one who put up with Grantaire’s shit.

**From: Jolllly (01:14a.m.) Are you ok? Where are you?**

**From: Jolllly (01:14a.m.) Are you actually sick or is that just a lie you want me to tell them?**

**From: Jolllly (01:14a.m.) You got me really worried now, R. is everything ok?**

**From: Jolllly (01:14a.m.) Did you get the flu? You mentioned a coworker with a cough.**

**From: Jolllly (01:15a.m.) I knew you should have stayed away from that woman. She was sneezing without covering her mouth!**

**From: Jolllly (01:15a.m.) Is it the flu? Do you have the flu?**

**From: Jolllly (01:16a.m.) Grantaire???**

**From: Jolllly (01:17a.m.) Is this about the fight with Enjolras?**

Grantaire sighed and his eyes stung at the mention of the name he had been trying so hard to forget. It felt like a punch to his gut. Drawing a shaky breath, he replied.

**To: Jolllly (01:19a.m.) im ifine, i promis,. just do what i asked pls, ill explain evrthing later**

Just as he was notified that the message had been received by Joly, his phone started buzzing with an incoming call from the man. With a sigh and a heavy heart, Grantaire declined the call and put his phone away once more. The simple thought of the disappointment that he would most certainly find in Joly’s eyes as soon as the man realized how drunk he had gotten was enough to make the throbbing in his heart increase. He hated disappointing Joly; in fact, making Joly proud was one of the main reasons why he had fought so hard for his job. But it had all been for nothing. All the effort, all the humiliation he had submitted himself to. All for nothing. Suddenly, the memory of Enjolras’ words stung more than they first had, and the image of him turning his back and disappearing burned itself into the back of Grantaire’s skull. His phone was still buzzing in his pocket, but he turned to look at the bartender instead. The man was staring at him with silent curiosity.

“So”, Grantaire started, taking a sip of the new drink the man had fixed him. He hated the way his voice sounded slurred and rough, but forced himself to continue. He had nothing else to lose, had he? What did it matter anymore? He was drunk and suddenly bold, probably due to the huge amount of alcohol coursing through his blood. “There was this boy I liked. He is everything I’ll never be, and the extreme opposite of myself. I loved him from the moment I first laid my eyes on him, but he never gave me the time of the day. Until he did”, he chuckled humorlessly, unaware of how dragged his discourse had sounded, and not noticing the tears pooling in his eyes. “I kind of wish he hadn’t, now that I think of it. It would have been better to perish as Echo than to burn down as Icarus. I should have never been foolish enough to chase the sun, when I knew the only possible result was that I would end up getting burned”.

“You’re not making any sense, mate”, the bartender said carefully.

“But it wasn’t the sun that killed Icarus, was it?”, Grantaire scoffed melancholically. “Nah. Everyone thinks it was the sun, but what really killed him was the fall. I’m pretty sure his last thoughts before he met his death were about how it was not worth it. The sun is beautiful, and glorious, and it burns bright in passion and fury but it can only ruin you if you get too close”, there was a small pause. “And I got too close. I should have admired his marmoreal beauty from afar, where was my place; I don’t belong near him. He says he didn’t tell anyone because he thought I didn’t want him to, but that’s just the lamest excuse ever, isn’t it?”, he scoffed, sadness suddenly shifting into mindless anger. “He knew those words would make me feel guilty, he knows what his pretty words and his rosy lips do to me. He knows. That’s the only explanation. He was playing me, he was just playing me all along. God, I wish I had never gone to those stupid meetings in the first place”.

“C’mon man”, the bartender approached him. “How long have you been here anyway? I think it’s time you go home”.

“This place has barely opened up”, Grantaire protested, confused.

“We’ve been open for four hours now, mate”, the man replied, his voice showing a hint of worry. Grantaire blinked dumbly. He had been there for four hours? Actually, he couldn’t remember the point in which he had decided to leave the bar he had spent the afternoon at and go to the nightclub. Everything was just one big blurry mess, which meant he was drunker than expected.

“Fuck”, he sighed, rubbing a hand forcefully against his face as if to get rid of the numbness. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and everything felt too ethereal to him. He shoved the tiny empty glass in front of him to the bartender. “Hit me up”.

“I don’t think you should have any more”, the man said.

“For fuck’s sake, am I paying you or what?!”, Grantaire snapped in anger, slurring, and he would have been surprised at his own harshness, had he been sober at that moment.

“Grantaire?”, a familiar, almost timid voice called from behind him, over the loud music, and his blood froze in his veins, because he would be able to recognize that voice anywhere in the world, at any possible universe. It was the only voice capable of turning his blood into ice and fire at the same time, the only sound in the world capable of soothing his chaotic thoughts and calming his racing heart while all the while making it rush. It was the voice of Apollo. And Grantaire was definitely drunk out of his mind, because it took him longer than it should have to compute that Enjolras being there, at a nightclub, near a bar, was very, very wrong. It didn’t make sense. But the curiosity regarding Enjolras’ presence there was immediately smothered by the raw anger that blossomed inside Grantaire’s chest, because Christ, he couldn’t even be left alone to lick at his wounds without Enjolras assuming that he had any right to meddle into his personal life.

“There he is”, Grantaire laughed exaggeratedly, humorlessly, mockingly. He never turned around to look at Enjolras, or acknowledged his presence in any other way than those three slurred words. The bartender eyed the pair hesitantly.

“Grantaire, would you mind if we stepped outside for a moment so we can talk?”, Enjolras asked politely, his tone more gentle than Grantaire had ever heard him. His voice was raised so that Grantaire would be able to hear him over the loud music of the nightclub, but it still managed to sound shy. The tenderness in Enjolras’ voice only made Grantaire’s blood boil hotter with rage, and he turned around furiously, instinctively and without even thinking about it.

“Who the fuck let you in here, huh?”, Grantaire asked, even though the club was a public space that anyone could enter as long as they paid. Enjolras seemed taken aback by Grantaire’s obvious anger, and blinked up at the cynic with confused eyes. But that fake, innocent look wasn’t fooling Grantaire. An ugly part of him wanted to hurt Enjolras, to make sure that he felt every bit of humiliation and frustration that Grantaire had been forced to feel because of him. Turning to the bartender, he gestured at Enjolras as if he was insignificant, a scornful look in his face. “This is the one who cost me my job today”, he explained almost conversationally, as if Enjolras wasn’t even there. The leader’s face flushed, and a look of understanding crossed the bartender’s face.

“I’m going to make things right”, Enjolras said, clearly embarrassed. Suddenly, he couldn’t quite meet Grantaire’s eyes. “That’s why I came over here. I just wanted to talk to you, since I realize that my departure from the office today was hardly appropriate, especially in the light of the sensitive subject we had been discussing –“

“Oh, spare me of your fancy words”, Grantaire interrupted loudly, obnoxiously. Enjolras once again blinked in confusion, as if noticing the heavy slurring in Grantaire’s voice for the first time. “Pretty syntax fits well in the lips of a god, that’s for sure, but today you are nothing but a mortal to me”.

“Good”, Enjolras nodded fiercely. “Your idealization of me has been most unhealthy; I am glad that you finally put an end to this. Now that you no longer see me as a god, can we please talk to each other as equals?”, Enjolras pleaded.

“No”, Grantaire said simply, sitting back at his stool and gesturing wildly for another drink, doing his best to ignore Enjolras completely.

“Why not?”, Enjolras asked, frustrated.

“We’re not equals”, Grantaire shrugged. “We never were, we’ll never be. The natural order of the world dictates that I shall always be at your feet, licking at your boots like a dog and feeling happy with every scrap of attention you opt to give me”.

“That’s not right”, Enjolras said, taking the empty seat beside Grantaire, even though his presence was clearly unwanted. “I don’t see you as a dog, or as inferior to me, and neither should you. If I had known that was your opinion regarding our relationship, I would have never started it in the first place”, he said resentfully. Grantaire snorted through his nose, laughing humorlessly.

“ _What_ relationship, Enjolras? What did you even start, huh? Or do you think that shoving your tongue down my throat in a secret back room at the Musain counts as a stable and healthy relationship?”, he asked, tone dripping with sarcasm and voice extremely loud.

“I would appreciate if you could keep your voice down”, Enjolras hissed at him, face blushing in embarrassment again, suddenly aware of the looks they were receiving. “I don’t want to make another scene out of this”.

“Oh, why?”, Grantaire asked, standing up from his chair. Anything to annoy Enjolras. The leader grabbed his forearm as if to push him back down to his seat, but Grantaire yanked his arm away from Enjolras’ grasp nonchalantly. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen and variations thereof!”, he announced as loudly as he could, drawing even more looks. “This man over here has shoved his tongue down my throat on several occasions, and would have probably shoved his cock as well had I not figured out what a _fucking asshole_ he is in time”, he pointed at Enjolras, yelling the words at the top of his lungs. The leader’s face got as red as a tomato, and more eyes turned to stare at them.

“ _Grantaire!_ ”, Enjolras hissed, furious, standing up to face the man. Grantaire stared down at him defiantly, as if daring the man to contest him. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, Grantaire’s eyes studying Enjolras with an uncommon intensity, almost as if he wanted Enjolras to retaliate and hurt him. Almost as if his _goal_ was making Enjolras hurt him. However, for once, Enjolras was reasonable towards the cynic, and took a deep breath to recompose. “I think you’ve had enough for today”, he said patiently, trying to keep his cool, even though his voice still showed remains of resentment for the scene Grantaire was making.

“Says the guy who has it all”, Grantaire bickered back, eyes never leaving Enjolras’. The leader’s face hardened, turning into marble, and somewhere inside the sober part of his brain, Grantaire realized that he had hit a soft spot.

“Don’t go there”, Enjolras hissed menacingly, shaking his head. Grantaire drunkenly realized that he was accomplishing his goal of pissing Enjolras off. “Don’t say that. It’s not fair and you know it”.

But Grantaire felt like a reckless child who had been vexed, and all he wanted to do was to make Enjolras annoyed enough to leave him alone. All he wanted was to be alone on that moment, which was pretty ironic, because as much of a mess he was, he’d always hated being lonely. But right now, after the shitty day he had been through? He needed space. He needed space and time to think and process what had happened, what Enjolras had told him, and more importantly, what he hadn’t told him. He was tired of suffering for Enjolras, and he was drunk and he was foolish. He would regret his words later, when sobriety returned to him, but right on that moment, alcohol was the owner of his mouth and Dionysus was the owner of his mind. Whether it was madness or drunkenness controlling him, Grantaire couldn’t tell for sure, but he could imagine it was a mixture of both.

“Fair?”, he chuckled, humor giving place to disdain and hurt in his voice. “You want to talk about fairness? You want to know what’s _not fair_?”, he took a step closer to Enjolras, who didn’t even flinch. “What’s not _fair_ is me losing my job because your dad is a fucking dick. What’s not _fair_ is me being humiliated in front of an entire office because you decided it was time to discuss something that we willingly kept in silence for fucking months. What’s not _fair_ ”, he poked two harsh fingers to Enjolras’ chest, “is you taking advantage of my well-known feelings for you and using me to _relieve your tension_ whenever you felt like it, because you knew that I would do absolutely anything and everything you asked me. What’s not fair”, Grantaire caught his breath, only then realizing that his eyes were damp with tears that were threatening to spill any moment now. “Is you playing me around like a fool and then acting as if it was _my fault_ that we didn’t have a fucking relationship, when you were the one with all the reasons in the world to be ashamed of me, not the other way around”.

“R”, Enjolras said softly, and the rare use of the nickname sent a wave of both rejoice and disgust through his body. Grantaire closed his eyes. “Please, understand. I had no idea that this is what you thought our relationship was, or I would have never indulged in this”, he tried to explain, but his words only made the situation worse. Enjolras seemed to realize that as soon as they left his mouth, but Grantaire was always quicker at replying than Enjolras was at amending.

“Indulge”, Grantaire scoffed, not able to look at Enjolras anymore. If he did, he would end up breaking; he knew it.

“Please let me rephrase”, Enjolras asked, and if Grantaire hadn’t been drunk out of his mind, he would have noticed the pleading tone in his voice. A pleading tone that was rarely ever there, even more so directed to Grantaire. “I didn’t mean it”.

“Yeah, sure you didn’t”, Grantaire rolled his eyes, turning on the stool so that he would face the bar rather than Enjolras. “Another one”, he raised his glass, gesturing at the bartender.

“It’s your fault, really”, Enjolras said, and it took all of Grantaire’s will not to turn and face him with a raised, incredulous eyebrow. “People always tell me I’m great with words, and speeches, and discourse; Combeferre has told me more than once that I could probably tear the government down only using my words. But whenever I’m around you, I don’t know what happens to me, it’s like my brain freezes and all my ideas mix together and everything I try to tell you comes out wrong. My words come out… aggressive, and just so, so wrong. I didn’t mean I was indulging on you, I never meant to make you feel like I was using you. Please, if you would just step outside with me for a moment, so I can… organize my thoughts properly and tell you everything I need to tell you, without all this noise and these people. Please”, he begged again. There was a hint of urgency in his voice, and he reached out to touch Grantaire’s hand, which was leaning on the counter. Grantaire stiffened, and his lower lip was trembling, but he didn’t move. “Please, come with me. Let me explain”.

There was nothing in the world Grantaire wanted more than to give in and follow Enjolras outside, but he knew precisely what would happen. Enjolras would tell him he was sorry, Grantaire would end up accepting his apology, they would make out at the back alley, probably fuck somewhere dirty and unsuitable for a first time, then they would go back to their normal lives of Enjolras screaming insults at him and ignoring his general existence while in the public space. And Grantaire would remain jobless, moneyless and incredibly frustrated.

No. he wouldn’t allow himself to give in so easily this time. He was tired of being a fool for Enjolras. As much as he loved him, he couldn’t keep doing this, especially now that it was clear that Enjolras didn’t love him back. If he did, he would have told him in the office, wouldn’t he?

“If you have something to say, say it right here”, Grantaire said bitterly, not looking at Enjolras but not removing his hand from the other man’s grasp, either. The bartender handed him another drink with weary eyes, but Grantaire merely nursed it with his free hand, rather than drinking it. “I ain’t following you anywhere”.

He could notice Enjolras taking a deep breath and lowering his head, and he didn’t have to look up to picture the look Enjolras was probably wielding. Perfectly white teeth biting at his lower lip, brow creased in deep thought as he tried to figure out what to say and eyes running from one side to the other as he tried to organize his ideas in his head. He probably looked beautiful, more angelic than ever under the flashing, colorful lights of the nightclub. Grantaire drunkenly wondered what his golden hair would look like under that light. Would he be able to spot Enjolras’ freckles in the darkness, even though he knew by heart exactly where each and every one painted his face? He ended up turning his head to look, despite of his best efforts, and found a nervous Enjolras staring at him anxiously exactly as he had imagined.

“I can’t even explain how sorry I am”, Enjolras started, and there was something wrong about this whole scenario, because he had to shout in order to be heard over the music, and the effort would probably leave his voice hoarse afterwards. These words should be spoken softly, calmly, and not be shouted. “I should have realized you had feelings for me – all the signs were there. Your immediate willingness to… kiss me, on that first time, should had been evidence enough, but as usual, I was as oblivious as I could get when it comes to you, right? I don’t know what it is about you, Grantaire, but you seem to be the only person capable of turning me into a complete fool. Whether it is when you refute every single one of my arguments, or when you show up to meetings with corny jokes on your mind and distract everyone from the cause, or when you make those ridiculously inappropriate remarks that leave me speechless… Which is another one of your abilities. You always render me speechless, R, and whenever I can find the words I look for, they come out all wrong and mean and rude and just… not true”.

“Do you have a point?”, Grantaire interrupted, because he was drunk and the music was loud and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up for too long if Enjolras kept ranting aimlessly like that. Yeah, yeah, that was a nice excuse, “I didn’t mean it”, but if Enjolras kept talking about the different ways Grantaire messed with his head, he might end up actually believing him (and being flattered about it).

“Right. Yes. Sorry”, Enjolras apologized, lowering his head in clear embarrassment. He leaned closer to Grantaire, so that his lips would be closer to the cynic’s ears and he wouldn’t have to yell so loudly. Grantaire repressed a shiver, afraid that Enjolras would notice it from the close range he was at. Despite of their proximity, Enjolras did his best to respect Grantaire’s space and not lean on him too much. “Another thing you make me do, rant”, he smiled sadly. “But what I mean to say is… I wasn’t ready to answer your question before, but I am now”.

Grantaire couldn’t exactly recall what Enjolras was talking about, but something about those words sent a sharp stab of fear and anxiety through his stomach, and he suddenly his attention sharpened.

“What question?”, Grantaire slurred hesitantly, and Enjolras blushed. After a few seconds of mental preparation, he stared at Grantaire with determination. Their faces were so close that Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ warm breath tickling the skin of his face.

“You asked me what I felt for you”, Enjolras explained, and Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat. Enjolras couldn’t do that to him. That wasn’t right. Not there, not at that unknown club, in the middle of a meeting they hadn’t planned, with Grantaire too drunk to remember the moment properly. He wanted to be able to recall the words, the look on Enjolras’ face, every single detail about him while he said those special three words. He didn’t want it to be in a crowded club, with deafening music and alcohol poisoning Grantaire’s blood to the point of oblivion. He didn’t want that, especially because it was probably a lie. Enjolras, being the martyr he was, had probably convinced himself that he had feelings for Grantaire, because talking himself into projecting emotions he didn’t have was easier than admitting that Grantaire was right and he was wrong. Yes, that was it, Grantaire had cracked it. Enjolras didn’t want to admit Grantaire was right, which was why he was about to say the words Grantaire had spent years dreaming about. And it wasn’t fair. It was mean. It was cruel. It was inconsiderate.

“Stop”, Grantaire sighed.

“I love you”, Enjolras said.

Grantaire had expected time to freeze, sound to dull, people to stop, lights to brighten. He had expected that the entire world would stop upon hearing those words. He had expected his heart to burst out of his chest, his soul to ascend to the skies, the entirety of space and time to freeze and collapse because nothing else could ever matter after hearing those words directed at him, coming from Enjolras’ lips. But none of that happened. The music on the background continued blasting as loudly and deafeningly as they had before Enjolras spoke, and the people around them continued to dance and have fun, completely unaware of what was going on at that bar. Enjolras continued to blink up expectantly at him, and everything felt wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t how Grantaire wanted it to be. He had wanted the first time he ever heard those words to be special, to be remarkable. Grantaire was so drunk he couldn’t even focus on Enjolras’ face, for god’s sake, and it was so bloody dark that he could barely see the man’s face anyway. This wasn’t fair.

“Fuck you”, he ended up snapping, out of sheer impulse. He retrieved his hand from Enjolras’ hold, and the leader looked as if Grantaire had just slapped him on the face.

“W-what?”, Enjolras asked, clearly taken aback by Grantaire’s response.

“I said fuck you”, Grantaire repeated, trying his best to sound fierce, but his voice was breaking and there were tears pooling on his eyes. He probably looked pathetic, but he was too drunk to care. “I don’t know what sort of fucked up sense of humor you have, but this is sadistic, Enjolras”.

“Sadistic –“, Enjolras started, clearly indignant at the word, but cut himself short before he could lose his temper. “Grantaire, do you think I am joking about this?!”, he asked seriously. “Do you actually think I would joke about something as serious as my feelings?”

“Yeah, you’re right”, Grantaire shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Not joking, then. You must be a true sadist, that’s all”.

Enjolras huffed out an indignant breath, not believing what he was hearing.

“So this is really what you think of me”, he said, shaking his head and looking profusely disappointed. He retrieved his hand from where it had been lying limply on the top of the counter after Grantaire removed his own hand. “You really see me as this evil, _sadistic_ monster who uses you for fun and plays with your feelings for my own amusement”.

Grantaire didn’t answer. Deep down, he knew Enjolras wasn’t like that. Enjolras was kind, and compassionate, and good to everyone. Well, everyone, except Grantaire. To Grantaire, he was fierce, and rude, and aggressive, and so, so passionate. But Enjolras took his silence for a confirmation.

“You know what?”, Enjolras continued, sounding to be on the verge of tears himself. Grantaire didn’t dare to look and confirm his suspicions, in fear that upon seeing a teary-eyed Enjolras again, he would finally break and forgive him. “This was really eye opening for me. I had my doubts if coming here tonight and apologizing to you was a mistake, but now I can see it _definitely_ was”.

“It was”, Grantaire replied on instinct. He didn’t want Enjolras’ pity. He didn’t want Enjolras to lie only to make him feel better.

“Yeah. It was”, he nodded, standing up from his seat. “Still, I am glad I could tell you my thoughts and about how I felt. At least, I did my part. How you choose to interpret everything I just told you is purely your choice. Do with this information what you please”.

Enjolras turned around to leave, but something made him stop in his tracks before he could get more than two steps away from Grantaire, who was still sitting completely still on his stool, head bowed down and turned away from Enjolras. The leader turned back to Grantaire.

“You know what?”, Enjolras said. “You said today, back at the office, that I was the one who had wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I will tell you that this is not true. Ever since the beginning, I wanted you to be my boyfriend, and I actually thought that we were on the same page until you denied it today. Even though you would say horrible and humiliating things about my beliefs on every meeting, and even though you would make fun of me in front of everyone, and _even though_ you were the one who always avoided me after we kissed, as if you thought that kissing me was something wrong, _despite of all that_ , I still wanted to be with you. Maybe, if you could remove the stick from up your ass, you could see that I only ever yell at you if you are the one who starts the yelling. Since you insist on idealizing me so much, you should know that retaliation is something _gods_ usually do”, Enjolras pronounced the word bitterly, as if expecting some sort of reaction. Grantaire stiffened, but didn’t move. At the man’s silence, Enjolras let out a bitter laugh that could have been a sob. “God, I don’t even know why I bother”.

And then, because Grantaire was an obnoxious asshole who would die before admitting there was a slight chance that he was in the wrong, he raised his glass, without turning to Enjolras, and muttered:

“Salut”.

He wasn’t really sure at what point after that Enjolras left, but he assumed it didn’t take him too long.

The truth was: Enjolras’ words hit home. All the points he had made were perfectly reasonable, if Grantaire could find it in himself to put his anxiety and suspicion aside. Grantaire had never doubted the fact that he was an asshole; he knew it, everyone knew it. He was an asshole _on purpose_. As much as resentment and frustration wanted to blind him from the ugly truth, and as much as the alcohol was still clouding his thoughts, his heart took the reigns of his reason and it spoke louder. There was a slight chance that Enjolras was telling the truth. It was slight, and the resentful part of him wanted to believe that Enjolras was just manipulating him into going back to snogging him in the dark, but his words had felt truthful. Grantaire knew Enjolras, compassionate, kind, gentle, inherently good Enjolras. He wasn’t an evil man. He wasn’t the type of man who would play with somebody else’s feelings. And most of all, he wasn’t the type of man that _lied_.

As much as he wanted to deny it, Grantaire found that he couldn’t – so far, Enjolras had never lied to him. If anything, Enjolras had always been painfully honest, always shoving the ugly truths that Grantaire didn’t want to see right at his face. _Obnoxious, drunkard, useless to the cause, cynic_ , those were the words Enjolras chose to describe him and they were all true. Even during their worst arguments, Enjolras never spared Grantaire of the truth, not even for his own sake. Why would he decide to start lying now? Maybe out of pity? Out of regret? Out of some unknown feeling not even he could understand? As much as Grantaire wanted to convince himself that the point his mind was making up were true, deep down he knew they weren’t.

Enjolras hadn’t been lying when he said he loved him. No, he was too good and too honest for that. Enjolras had probably _convinced_ himself that he had feelings for Grantaire, out of his inherent desire and inclination towards righteousness. By trying to amend things, he had lied not to Grantaire, but to himself. Because, after all, the idea that Enjolras could be in love with him was simply too unconceivable to be considered as an actual possibility.

Grantaire wasn’t exactly in control of himself when he hopped off his stool and stood up, turning to look for Enjolras and chase him. In his drunkenness, Grantaire’s top priority became telling Enjolras how mistaken he was to ever consider the possibility of loving a man such as Grantaire. He needed to tell him. Enjolras needed to know, Grantaire needed to help him stop lying to himself. And probably apologize, too, for his undeniable assholery at the meetings, even though he was still upset about the thing that had happened earlier (something about his job, but Grantaire couldn’t quite remember that anymore).

But then, just as Grantaire managed to squeeze his way through the crowd that was surrounding the bar, completely unaware of the bartender’s calls after him, he spotted Enjolras. It took him longer than it should have, but the alcohol was dulling his mind and everything was a mixture of sounds and neon colors and flashing lights that were too overwhelming. But Enjolras was there, and Grantaire could see him. He was standing near the dance floor, and the bright colorful lights were shining beautifully against his blond hair, which was tied neatly on the top of his head in a messy bun, so different from Enjolras’ usually neat and careful arrangement of his curls. And there was a man with his body glued to Enjolras’.

Grantaire merely stared, unable to acknowledge the many people who were bumping harshly into him as he stood there, as still as a statue with planted feet on the middle of the rom, eyes fixed on Enjolras and chapped lips parted in shock and disbelief. Because there, by the dance floor, Enjolras stood, and a man also stood, the latter’s body glued closely to the leader’s as he bent his head to whisper something in Enjolras’ ear. He had a firm hand grasping one of Enjolras’ wrist, and the other one was keeping a tight hold of Enjolras’ hip, their upper bodies glued airtight as the unknown man kept whispering his secrets to Enjolras. And all of a sudden Grantaire could no longer see anything, because his eyes were filled with tears.

To think that he was about to chase after Enjolras and lower himself at his feet like a street dog, as usual! To think that he was about to enlighten Enjolras and minimize himself and rant about his self-depreciative thoughts! To think that he had broken so easily, so little time after Enjolras’ words! To think that he was about to make such a stupid decision! Enjolras had clearly wasted no time in replacing him for another man, a much taller, stronger and more handsome man than Grantaire could ever dream of being. He hadn’t even had the decency of waiting until he was out of the same environment as Grantaire, and in fact had chosen to offer his favors to another right there, right in front of the bar where surely Grantaire would have been able to spot them should he have simply turned around. Grantaire couldn’t believe this. This hurt harder than anything Enjolras had ever done to him. To know that he was so easily and rapidly replaceable made his throat sting with an uprising knot and his head ache from the effort of holding back a sob. He was about to turn around and resume his drinking at the bar when something caught his attention.

Enjolras was not indulging into the man’s advances, but rather was attempting to yank his arm away from the man’s grip. Being strong and muscular as he was, the man didn’t let him go. Enjolras’ struggles increased as he did his best to put as much distance between himself and the man as he could, but it was to no avail. The man simply grabbed hold of Enjolras’ other arm, immobilizing him from any further attempts at an escape.

“Let go of me!”, Enjolras was shouting, but under the loud music blasting the night club, his protests went unnoticed and unheard by the crowd. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Or what?”, the man laughed, tightening his grip on Enjolras’ wrists. Enjolras hissed, attempting to get away, but it was useless. The more he struggled, the tighter the man’s grip grew, and his fingers would definitely leave ugly bruises on Enjolras’ skin.

“Let go of me right now!”, Enjolras continued to protest, flailing his legs madly as he attempted to shift his body weight and release himself from the assaulter. Giggling, the man turned Enjolras around, so that his chest was glued to Enjolras’ back. He held each of Enjolras’ hands on the opposite side of his hips, holding him tightly in a position that Enjolras would never be able to get away from.

“Shh, no need to make such a fuss, blondie”, the guy hissed loudly at Enjolras’ ear, burying his nose at the leader’s neck and taking a deep breath. Enjolras tried to lean away from him, but couldn’t. “If you were willing to shove your tongue down that ugly fucktard’s throat, why not give me a chance, huh?”

“Get off me!”, Enjolras’ limbs were flaying madly now, but the man’s grip was too tight.

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a bitch about it”, the guy laughed, and some of his friends who were standing nearby laughed and giggled loudly. “You just got dumped by an ugly drunk, what have you got to lose? I’m definitely prettier than him, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t want to kiss you in a million years, you pathetic excuse of a human being!”, Enjolras shouted in such an Enjolresque way that Grantaire would have laughed, had it not been for the seriousness of the situation. “You are restraining me against my will and this is physical abuse! Let go of me right now, I do not consent to this!”

This made the guys laugh even harder, and the man holding Enjolras let go of one of his wrists in order to grab his ass instead. Enjolras used his free hand to slap him in the face, so hard that the man’s head turned, and angry print already forming on his cheek. The man let go of Enjolras’ other wrist, looking at him with such fury that Grantaire couldn’t withhold stepping in to help any second longer. Just as the guy raised his fist in order to punch Enjolras in the face, Grantaire broke into a sprint and threw himself between the two of them, tackling the man to the floor at full force and accidentally knocking two nearby people down with them. They both collided heavily against the floor, but the assaulter got the worst of the fall, since Grantaire’s drunken weight fell right on top of him. Before the man could recover from Grantaire’s sudden and unexpected appearance, the cynic’s fist slammed heavily against his jaw, and was out cold in the same second, body splayed limply on the dirty floor of the night club.

Grantaire stumbled to his feet, swaying drunkenly as he tried to regain his balance, all the while shaking the hand he had used to punch Enjolras’ assaulter as if to regain feeling to it. Alcohol was dulling his senses and now that the adrenaline of defending Enjolras from that man was running off, he could be aware of only two things: the people around him, stepping back in fear to form a semicircle around Grantaire, Enjolras and the unconscious assaulter, and then, a split second afterwards, Enjolras shouting his name in horror. Before he could make sense of any of the information his brain was receiving, it was his turn to be tackled to the floor.

A storm of fists and feet found their way to Grantaire’s body, punching and kicking him mercilessly while he confusedly tried to stand up again. He managed to hold the fist of one of his aggressors and suckerpunched the man, but still, there were at least four more pairs of fists assaulting him and he was definitely too drunk to remember anything that years of boxing and martial arts had taught him. He was vaguely aware of random people screaming and someone calling his name, but all that mattered to him was getting away from there, because even though he was drunk out of his mind and the blows didn’t even hurt that much at the time, he was confused and dizzy and he didn’t like being on the floor. He could feel something warm dripping from his nostrils and down his face from his forehead, but those were merely backward thoughts as he constantly attempted to get back up again, all the while fighting his aggressors with everything that he got. Someone was holding him by his shirt, as if attempting to pull him to his feet, but then the hand was gone and he fell heavily on his back, only to be kicked again. Someone’s boot collided harshly with his temple and, even though it was dark inside the club, Grantaire saw stars, his vision immediately overwhelmed by black and white dots. Next he was aware of, the neon flashlights of the club had become blurry and dull, and there was a metallic taste on his mouth accompanied by a gut wrenching nausea and a faint headache whose intensity was definitely dulled by the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

And then, puf.

There was nothing. No sound, no lights, no nothing. If it were not for the remaining metallic taste on his mouth and the unmistakable churning of his stomach, Grantaire would have believed that he had passed out. But before he could conclude whether or not he was conscious, an unknown familiar voice that was standing far away from his asked:

“What’s going on?”

And then, another, closer:

“What’s happening?”

“Oh my god, what’s going on?”

“Where are the lights?”

“Is this a blackout?”

“Oh god this is a blackout!”

“Quick, we have to get to the door!”

Everyone inside the club started screaming and shouting different orders at the same time. Grantaire, who was still on the floor, felt several feet and legs colliding with him as people tried to get away and run to the exit door, unaware that there was a beaten, drunk man lying on the floor beneath them. Before he could get trampled (further), he got to his feet, swaying and leaning on people that he didn’t even know for support, trying his best to make sense of what was happening inside the pitch darkness that had taken over the club. If he had been confused before, now things were even worse – not only he was drunk and beaten up, but everything was dark and several people were blindly bumping into him as they frantically attempted to escape. In any other situation, Grantaire would have followed the mob towards the exit door, but on that moment there was only one thing in his mind.

Enjolras.

Enjolras, who didn’t frequent night clubs, who probably didn’t even know where the exit door was supposed to be, who was too small and too thin and would probably end up being trampled by all those people if Grantaire didn’t get to him in time. Enjolras, who had been assaulted by a man twice his size the last Grantaire had seen him, and who could be caught by the man’s friends now that it was dark and no one would bother to look for them or stop them from hurting him. Enjolras, who had told Grantaire he loved him, and who received nothing but scorn and a “fuck you” in response to his feelings.

Oh, god, what if his last words to Enjolras had been “fuck you”, right after Enjolras told him he loved him?

The phantom pain settling in Grantaire’s limbs was pushed to the back of his mind as he desperately ran his eyes across the dark, searching for any signs of Enjolras, who had been standing right there behind him a moment ago.

“Enjolras!”, Grantaire shouted, reaching for the dark and finding nothing more than the desperate bodies of the people running and rushing to the exit, ignorant of Grantaire’s urgency. “Enjolras, where are you? Enjolras!”

“Sir, everyone must head to the door, come on”, someone instructed him after he stumbled by himself in the dark for a while, never ceasing to call for Enjolras and actually falling on his side more than three times because he was dizzy and drunk and lost.

“Enjolras!”, Grantaire continued to shout, ignoring the large man who was pushing him towards the exit door. He was probably a security man, attempting to keep everyone safe in the nightclub’s behalf. He attempted to fight the man’s grip on him, but his body was tired and intoxicated enough to allow the security man to drag him like a ragdoll. “Enjolras, fuck, let go of me, I gotta find Enjolras!”, Grantaire slurred in protest, but it was to no avail.

“Everyone is being cleared off the club, sir, you can find your friend outside”, the man replied nonchalantly, continuing to drag Grantaire to the exit as if he weighted no more than a sack of potatoes.

“Enjolras! Enjolras!”, Grantaire continued to shout. He needed to find Enjolras and keep him safe from those filthy men who wanted to harm him. He needed to tell him he loved him. He needed to tell him everything. All the anger and betrayal he had felt minutes before became nothing other than a dulling memory at the back of his mind, fading in the face of more urgent matters such as protecting the man he loved. All that mattered to Grantaire on that moment was finding Enjolras and keeping him safe, anger and betrayal be damned.

Find Enjolras. Keep him safe. Find Enjolras. Keep him safe. Find Enjolras keep him safe find Enjolras keep safe find Enjolras keep safe find Enjolras keep safe find Enjolras safe find Enjolras safe Enjolras safe find Enjolras safe Enjolras safe find Enjolras find find find safe safe safe –

The chilly air of the outdoor night cut him off his mantra and he stumbled, falling on his side heavily. No one bothered to aid him up. It felt as if he could finally breathe again, finally away from the mob of people crushing him and pushing him and trampling him. Outside the club, people were scattering up and the atmosphere was no longer claustrophobic, despite of the frenzy of being stuck in a blackout in the middle of the night. Dizzily standing up, Grantaire noticed (after a few drunken seconds of analyzation and deep thought) that the whole block seemed to be in the dark, which was why he couldn’t quit on his search for Enjolras. There was still a chance those men could be after him, seeking for vengeance for his denial and Grantaire’s assault.

“Enjolras!”, Grantaire continued to shout as he stumbled to his feet with difficulty. Some people turned to look at him, but Grantaire didn’t even notice them. In fact, he could barely focus his vision on what was directly ahead of him, and people dismissed him as a crazy drunk guy who was stumbling and swaying on the street after having too much to drink. He turned his head madly to the sides as he attempted to catch a glimpse of familiar blonde curls, familiar green eyes, familiar anything. He needed to find Enjolras, he needed to. Nothing else mattered to him, other than keeping Enjolras safe, no matter what had happened between them, no matter what unresolved disputes they may have. This was a dangerous situation, everybody knew how nasty blackouts could become and there was still a chance that Enjolras was being targeted by the men from the club. Grantaire needed to find him. He was drunk, battered and bruised, but he needed to find Enjolras.

Grantaire continued to wander aimlessly at the street, shouting Enjolras’ name at the top of his lungs and trying his hardest to find him. His legs were heavy and achy, even through the numbing blanket of alcohol, and his body was screaming in protest from the effort of walking and shouting right after receiving a beating and getting trampled by several people.

“Grantaire!”, a voice called behind him, and Grantaire turned around right in time to see Enjolras crossing the street towards him, a relieved look on his face. He was sweaty and there seemed to be a bruise blossoming on his cheek, but he seemed to be otherwise unharmed.

“Enjolras, there you are!”, Grantaire exclaimed, relieved that he had found him. A dumb smile spread on his lips – Enjolras was right there. Grantaire had found him. He was safe. Enjolras finally approached Grantaire and grabbed his hands, squeezing them as if to make sure that Grantaire was really there in front of him. There was a hint of a smile blossoming on his face before he froze, letting go of Grantaire’s hands and looking extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“I’ve got to go”, he said, almost resentfully, avoiding looking Grantaire in the eye. He sounded hurt, confused and worried all at the same time, but took a step back from Grantaire, as if the mere presence of the man was hurtful to him.

“Wait”, Grantaire said, and instinctively reached to grab Enjolras’ wrist. He hissed in pain as soon as Grantaire’s fingers enveloped his skin, and then Grantaire realized how sore his wrists must be from all the groping and grabbing that guy had submitted Enjolras to. At the back of his mind, his animalistic instincts wanted to find that guy again and make him pay for doing that to Enjolras, but he had other priorities on that moment. He immediately let go of Enjolras’ wrist, not willing to cause him further pain, and the leader retrieved his hand abruptly, clutching it close to his chest as if to protect it. He stared up at Grantaire with so many emotions running through his face that the drunk man couldn’t bring himself to read them all, which made him decide to just get that over with. They were in the middle of the street during a blackout, after all. “Let me get you out of here”, Grantaire said, looking around as if to check if they were being followed.

“I don’t need your help”, Enjolras snapped, suddenly looking angry as if he couldn’t believe Grantaire was suggesting that. “Actually, you’re the one who looks in need of help”, he added, taking one extra look at the mess that Grantaire’s face must have looked like, all bloodied and bruised.

“Yeah, whatever”, Grantaire said, grabbing hold of the cuff of Enjolras’ jacket, rather than his sore wrist, to urge the man into walking. “Let’s go. It’s not safe out here. My place is closer than yours”.

“No”, Enjolras protested vehemently, yanking his arm away from Grantaire’s lax grasp. He stopped on his tracks, and Grantaire mimicked him, all the while aiming a confused look at Enjolras. “I’m not going to your place with you after what happened tonight”.

Frustration and resentment blossomed inside Grantaire’s chest. After getting a beating to protect Enjolras, and wandering alone desperate to find the man and keep him safe, he was turning down Grantaire’s help as simply as that?

“You mean the part where I got my ass beat to defend you?”, Grantaire replied bitterly, making sure that Enjolras could feel the resentment in his voice.

“No”, Enjolras shook his head briefly, and if Grantaire had been sober, he would have noticed the slight tremble of the man’s lower lip. “I mean the part where you called me a sadistic monster who used you and told me to go fuck myself right after I apologized and told you how I felt about you”.

Grantaire let out a heavy, shaky breath through his nose, coming off as disbelieving. Yes, he had been angry and hurt and resentful and drunk and, most of all, stupid, which could only lead him to pull such a stunt. But Enjolras must know that he loves him back. Right? It was obvious, it was as clear as crystal. Everyone knew. Everyone teased Grantaire about it, openly, loudly; the bickering of the Amis was as easy as breathing. It was natural. There was no way in the world Enjolras could believe Grantaire didn’t love him back, right?

But Grantaire had told Enjolras the terrible things he thought of him when he was angry, he had called him a sadist and a monster and basically implied that Enjolras was using him as a stress relief when deep down, _deep down_ he hoped with all that was left of his will that it wasn’t true. He had scorned when Enjolras told him he loved him, and his response to the words he spent years dreaming about was “fuck you”. Other than secretly making out with Enjolras after discussions and livid shouting sessions, what other indications of his feelings had Grantaire ever given him? Spat-out bitter comments meant to ridicule Enjolras’ beliefs? Half-hearted drunken catch up lines that no one would ever take seriously? Long-lasting looks and graphic comments on Enjolras’ physique that could be interpreted as predator-like? What had Grantaire ever done, outside the realm of his vivid imagination, to show Enjolras that he loved him?

He would have to fucking say it out loud, wouldn’t he? For _fuck’s_ sake.

Grantaire’s feelings were non-verbal. He had never admitted to them. He had never denied them. The only person who was completely and fully aware of the extent of the love he felt for Enjolras was himself. It was common knowledge, yes, but he had never actually said the words. Not even in the nights he couldn’t sleep after a fight, not even during his insomniac crisis that left him sitting all night on the edge of his bedroom window with cigarettes on his lips and a blank sketchbook on his lap, taking in the scent of hot summer nights. He had never, ever spoken the words out loud, and he found that saying what he had kept safe inside him for so long was harder than he imagined it would be.

For Enjolras, it had been easy. He had been straightforward, as he always was. It might have taken him some time to realize and come to terms with his feelings, but once he did, he went to a nightclub right away just to let Grantaire know. For Grantaire, it was different. Those three words had been kept inside of him for too long, only coming to life in vivid fantasies and in his deepest, boldest dreams. They had rooted themselves into his heart; how could he simply tear them away from himself without making a mess? They had been his companion for all those years of pining, sulking and longing. They had been the one and only certainty in the life of a skeptic who believed in nothing – his love for Enjolras was his only belief. The one higher power he believed in, the sole source of hope inside of his being. To say the words out loud, to let them out of the cage in his chest and into the night felt like a betrayal to the long-lasted effort of keeping his feelings a secret. They had _never_ been a secret, not to the Amis, at least, but they were to Enjolras. Enjolras clearly had _no clue_ of how much Grantaire loved him. To say the words would be to cross the event horizon. The point of no return. There was no going back.

Enjolras stared at him with damp eyes and flushed cheeks from the cold weather. His face was scrunched up in a frown that told Grantaire that he wasn’t sure whether or not it was worth to wait to hear whatever it was the cynic was attempting to say. They had been in silence for too long, he realized that now. They had been standing in absolute silence in the dark street, and Enjolras’ resentful words echoed in Grantaire’s ears like a phantom reminder of how much he had wronged the leader. Enjolras wasn’t a saint – he could see that now. He had his own flaws and made his own mistakes, maybe not as much as Grantaire, but just as much as any regular human being. He got angry, and he got rude, and he got too insensible towards Grantaire’s feelings whenever they entered those heated discussions of theirs. But he was also kind, compassionate and more dedicated than any man Grantaire had ever met. He was beautiful, and he was ice, and he was fire, and he was marble, and he was flesh and bone, and he was smart, and he was impulsive, and he was gentle, and he was reckless, and he was Antinous, and he was Achilles, but most of all, he was Enjolras. He was human, just as much as Grantaire was. He didn’t wrong Grantaire because he was a righteous, vengeful god seeking to bring his justice down upon men – he did so because he was unbearably, unmistakably human. Grantaire could see that now. Grantaire could finally understand something that had been right at his face for years. His frustration regarding Enjolras’ mistakes were due to his unhealthy idealization of the man.

“You’re human”, Grantaire ended up saying out loud, sounding (and looking) dumbfounded by his epiphany. Enjolras, on the other hand, sighed heavily and let out a tiny whimper that could have been a frustrated sob, shaking his head.

“Oh, _god_ ”, he said, clearly disbelieving Grantaire’s nerve to say that after everything that had happened, and probably questioning why he had bothered to stay and listen. He turned as if he was about to walk away from Grantaire, but turned back after taking two steps.

“Wait!”, Grantaire shouted, limping closer to Enjolras, and even though everything hurt, he knew he needed to have this talk right now or else an insurmountable bridge would appear between them. “Please, let’s talk”, Grantaire pleaded, and just as the words left his mouth, he realized the irony of the statement. That had been Enjolras’ request to him, before they fought in the club. Enjolras, realizing the irony as well, scoffed.

“Funny of you to say that now”, he commented simply, doing his best not to look at Grantaire.

“Yes, I know, but we really need to talk, because I love you back”, Grantaire blurted out, immediately cursing himself for his impulsivity. He wished he was sober, for once in his life.

At least, the words were enough to make Enjolras finally look him in the eyes, indignation written all over his face. Enjolras looked angry. No, Enjolras looked _absolutely furious_.

“You _did not_ just do that”, he said in utter disbelief.

“What?”, Grantaire frowned, confused.

“You did not just tell me you love me for the first time while drunk out of your mind, covered in blood and in the middle of a street right after you hurt my feelings”, Enjolras explained, lips tight and brow twisted in a frown.

“Well, I guess I did. But in my defense, you told _me_ you loved me for the first time while I was getting shitfaced on a bar, in the middle of a nightclub, right after I lost my job because of you”, Grantaire retorted, hating how rude he ended up sounding. Despite of that, Enjolras’ face fell, and he bowed his head in shame.

“I never meant for that to happen. I would never have imagined that you would be at father’s office, Grantaire, if only you would have told me…”, Enjolras said, regretful.

“I wanted to”, Grantaire admitted, starting to feel ashamed himself. “But I couldn’t”.

“Why not?”, Enjolras questioned, shaking his head in confusion and looking deep into Grantaire’s eyes. “I thought you trusted me”.

“That’s different”, Grantaire protested, not looking at Enjolras. He felt drunk and lightheaded, but they needed to have that conversation. Grantaire would probably regret the things he would end up saying when he woke up in the morning with a skull-splitting hangover, but the words needed to be said. He needed to let Enjolras know, to make things clear once and for all. And if Enjolras rejected him after that…

Well. Then he would deal with it the only way he knew.

“How?”, Enjolras asked, sounding extremely frustrated. His damp eyes told Grantaire that he was confused by the whole situation, as if dealing with his and someone else’s feelings was more than he had signed up for when he started making out with Grantaire. “How is that different? If you trust me, then you trust me. There’s no middle ground”.

“There is, when your homophobic father is involved”, Grantaire retorted, and that was enough to make Enjolras’ lips go back to forming a thin line. “There is, when I can’t tell whether you absolutely despise me or may have feelings for me”.

“Grantaire…”, Enjolras started, but it didn’t sound like he actually knew what he was about to say.

“I’m sorry, ok?”, Grantaire blurted out, because even though the seriousness of the conversation had sobered him a bit, he was still drunk and anxious to get this done. They were still standing by themselves in the otherwise empty street, which was dark and cold. The faint sounds of people screaming and yelling could still be heard across the night. “I’m sorry for telling you to go fuck yourself after what you told me. I’m sorry for forcing you into admitting your feelings in front of your father. I’m sorry for being this mess of a human being that can’t deal with my problems, I’m sorry for ruining your meetings with my presence, I’m sorry for being such a fucking dick, ok? But yeah, you were kind of a dick too, so I guess we’re even”.

“When were I a dick?”, Enjolras replied impulsively, almost defensively.

“When you didn’t come out clear with me, Enjolras”, Grantaire explained, a hint of frustration appearing in his voice. “You must understand that I’ve been head over heels for you from the moment we first met, and that I’ve been completely, absolutely and irrevocably in love with you for the past two years”, he said, ignoring the way Enjolras’ lips parted in surprise. “And then we started making out, which was awesome, but you only did it in secret and away from the others, as if you didn’t want them to know. As if you were _ashamed_ of me. But since my self-esteem is rock bottom, I didn’t care, because hey, even though it wasn’t the relationship I wanted to have with you, it was _something_ , right? And I couldn’t just let go of those tiny scraps of attention you were willing to give me, because they were better than not having you at all, my dignity be damned. I just wanted to be… close to you. But c’mon, you can’t call secretly-making-out-inside-a-closet a relationship, especially not in front of your homophobic father who’s trying to throw me out of his office”, he shrugged. Enjolras looked conflicted.

“But… I thought”, his frown deepened, as if he was going through an internal conflict. “I thought we had something”, he raised his head to meet Grantaire’s eyes. “Do you really think I would hide in a closet with you and kiss you just out of… fun? Do you really think I would toy with your feelings like that, especially if I knew what you felt for me?”

“How would I know, Enjolras?”, Grantaire huffed out a tired breath. “What do I even know about you? When have we ever sat down and had a normal conversation that didn’t involve yelling insults at each other?”

Enjolras bowed his head again, but this time, his expression took a fierce determination that hadn’t been present there before. After a few seconds of silent ponderation, he gazed back up at Grantaire with self-assurance.

“Grantaire”, he started carefully, but firm. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Grantaire, being drunk and an asshole, couldn’t help but to laugh loudly at that. If it were not for the confusion in Enjolras’ face, he would have looked offended.

“ _What?_ ”, Grantaire asked, confused, still smiling.

“I said will you go on a date with me?”, Enjolras said a little bit too menacingly, as if he was forcing the words out. A deep blush rose to his cheeks and made his embarrassment for being laughed at evident. “I assumed that, since you and I maintain feelings for each other, it would suit us both to go out on a date and get to know a bit more about each other, since you made clear that this has been one of the aspects that are restraining our relationship to develop”, he said robotically. That was Enjolras’ defense mechanism whenever he found himself in the face of a situation that made him feel embarrassed or humiliated – prolixity.

“Wow, wait, hold up”, Grantaire rose a hand, blinking rapidly. “That’s too many words for me to understand right now. You may have forgotten that I drank a lot tonight”, he scoffed humorously.

“No, I didn’t forget”, Enjolras huffed out a worried breath. “Let me rephrase it then. I think we should go out on a date to get to know more about each other. Then, if we enjoy what happens, we can actually invest in a relationship”.

“Oh”, Grantaire said, smile dying on his face until he was gaping at Enjolras, surprise in his eyes. “ _Oh_ ”.

There was a stretching silence between them, in which Grantaire didn’t say a word and Enjolras was at a loss of them. Grantaire’s silence and blank expression seemed to be enough of an answer to Enjolras.

“Right”, Enjolras bowed his head sadly, not daring to face Grantaire and see the rejection in his eyes. “You made your answer clear enough. C’mon, I’m going to take you home, you’re in no shape to make it by yourself”, he turned on his heels, taking a few steps and waiting for Grantaire to accompany him, but the skeptic never did. He remained glued to his feet, until Enjolras finally turned his head to see what the delay was about.

“Enjolras”, Grantaire called, and there was an alien seriousness in his voice that obliged Enjolras to keep his eyes locked on him. “I would love to go on a date with you”.

“Then why didn’t you _say so_?!”, Enjolras blurted out, frustrated. The fact that he never seemed to be able to read Grantaire and his intentions frustrated him to no end, because a split minute ago, he had been sure that Grantaire didn’t want anything to do with him, and now Grantaire was telling him he wanted them to go on a date.

“I’m sorry”, Grantaire chuckled, closing the distance between himself and Enjolras with a few shaky steps and allowing one arm to pass around Enjolras’ shoulders. “I’m drunk”.

“You shouldn’t have drunk this much”, Enjolras reprimanded, taking a bit of Grantaire’s weight as they walked back to the apartment Grantaire and Joly shared. Enjolras wasn’t exactly sure that Grantaire’s swaying and unfocused eyes were _only_ due to his drinking, and he would feel more relieved once Joly tended to him properly and cleaned his injuries.

“Yeah, you say that a lot”, Grantaire hummed lowly.

“I say that a lot because I care about you a lot”, Enjolras explained. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh when I do. I’ll try to be better”.

“Yeah”, Grantaire nodded after a few moments of silence. “I’ll try, too”.

An easy silence fell between them as they continued their walk, the only sounds being Grantaire’s heavy breathing and their footsteps echoing through the night. Just as they reached Joly and Grantaire’s apartment, Enjolras said, without looking at Grantaire:

“I really love you, you know. I should have told you before”.

Grantaire eyed Enjolras for a few moments, still leaning his weight against him.

“Why didn’t you?”, he asked, silently, sounding more sober than he had before in that night.

“Why didn’t _you_?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow, looking at Grantaire through the corner of his eyes. Grantaire huffed out a humorous breath.

“I was afraid, I guess”, he shrugged, swallowing dry and wincing slightly as he removed his arm from the top of Enjolras’ shoulders. “That you would reject me”.

Enjolras turned so that he would face Grantaire, raising a hand to touch Grantaire’s bruised face with gentleness and love.

“So was I”, Enjolras admitted, looking flustered and embarrassed.

“I could never reject you”, Grantaire said quietly, droopy eyes glued to Enjolras with such love and admiration that the leader’s heart felt too big and warm for his chest.

“Neither could I”, Enjolras whispered, getting on the tip of his toes so that he could place a soft, tender kiss on Grantaire’s lips. This was shorter and gentler than the kisses that they had shared before, and Grantaire allowed his eyes to flutter close, enjoying the sensation. There was no lust or desire on that kiss. Only love.

“We’re both so stupid”, Grantaire scoffed after a few silent seconds. “We would have never gone through this whole mess if we had just _talked_ ”.

“I’m sorry I made you lose your job”, Enjolras apologized, sounding sincerely sad.

“Yeah, I know you are”, Grantaire sighed heavily.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t come clear with you before”, Enjolras continued. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like I was using you, and like I didn’t care about you. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. I really do love you, Grantaire. And I plan on proving that to you, no matter what it takes”.

“I’m sorry I told you to go fuck yourself”, Grantaire responded. “And that I called you a sadistic monster that was using me. I know you aren’t”.

“You do?”, Enjolras asked eagerly, sounding relieved.

“I do”, Grantaire grinned. “You’re not a monster. You’re the kindest person I know”.

“Are you sure about that?”, Enjolras tilted his head, sounding disbelieving. “I mean, have you _met_ Combeferre?”

“Yes, but I’ve never seen Combeferre flunk a class because he spent the whole semester busy making soup to the poor and campaigning”, Grantaire argued, squeezing Enjolras’ hand.

“You might not have seen it, but trust me, it has happened more than once”, Enjolras chuckled.

“I’d still take you over Combeferre every time”, Grantaire said, fishing the keys out of his pocket and opening the front door to his building.

“Are you sure?”, Enjolras teased. “He’s taller, has great hair, doesn’t have terrible sleeping habits like me and I do believe his cologne smells better than mine”.

“Yeah, but he’s not you”, Grantaire shrugged, accepting Enjolras’ help to climb the stairs to his floor. “So no can do”.

“I love you”, Enjolras said again, just because he knew how much Grantaire needed to hear it.

“I love you, too”, Grantaire smiled happily. “Now stop trying to make me trade you for Combeferre”.

“No promises”, Enjolras smiled back playfully.

 

-

 

On Christmas Eve, at Combeferre’s house, Enjolras and Grantaire sat side by side on their friend’s couch, arms glued together and hands intertwined as they shared a glass of red wine and chatted idly with their friends.

“So”, Courfeyrac said thoughtfully, only a bit tipsy, pointing a finger at the two of them sitting together. “You guys have been snogging for months, but didn’t admit your feelings to each other, and then Grantaire lost his job because of Enjolras, and then you told Enjolras to fuck off, and then you got your ass kicked protecting Enjolras and now you two are dating officially?”

Enjolras bit at his lower lip pensively, turning his head to look at Grantaire’s bruised face for a moment before turning back to his best friend.

“Yes, that’s pretty much what happened”, Enjolras admitted, feeling Grantaire nod and shrug beside him.

“I can’t believe how ridiculous you are”, Courfeyrac said, sounding actually offended. “We all knew you two were making out in the damn cabinet, Enjolras!”

“You _did_?”, Enjolras asked, sounding legitimately surprised.

“Of course we did”, Joly said, sitting down on the couch beside Grantaire and passing him a glass of water without looking at him. He was wearing the terrible sweater that Jehan had given him as a gift. “Did you think we couldn’t hear all the wet noises you kept making?”

“We didn’t make wet noises!”, Grantaire protested, sounding offended. “I’ll let you know I’m a great kisser”.

“Well, how should we know?”, Bossuet complained from where he was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, nestled between Joly’s legs. “You never gave us the honor”.

“Oh, come here, you unlucky bastard”, Grantaire exclaimed, letting go of Enjolras on the couch and crouching down so that he could envelop Bossuet’s head between his arms and drop a kiss on the bald top of it.

“Mind your nose!”, Joly said worriedly, outstretching both hands towards Grantaire as if to keep him from harming himself.

“Don’t worry about my nose, it’s going to be fine”, Grantaire said, going back to sitting at his previous position beside Enjolras, an arm thrown around the man’s shoulders. “Maybe the shape even came out better this time”.

“Don’t say that”, Enjolras reprimanded sweetly, dropping a kiss at Grantaire’s cheek. “Your nose looks beautiful”.

“Ugh, what’s happening?”, Courfeyrac said, sounding completely disgusted. Combeferre arrived from the chicken with a plate full of snacks and placed it on the coffee table, which was at the center of their little group. Courfeyrac immediately grabbed his arm and pulled him down to the floor so that he could sit beside him. “Combeferre, stay with me. These two are too cheesy and it’s making me uncomfortable”.

“I thought I’d die without seeing the day in which Courf got uncomfortable”, Feuilly commented, raising his beer bottle before taking a chug.

“Don’t you think that they being cheesy is better than screaming like animals at each other?”, Combeferre raised an inquiring eyebrow, taking a cookie from his plate and eating it.

“Don’t worry, Enj doesn’t seem to have given up on the screaming”, Grantaire said with a shit-eating grin. “If you know what I mean”, he winked at Bossuet and Joly, looking devious. Enjolras blushed and slapped a hand against Grantaire’s arm.

“ _Grantaire!_ ”, he reprimanded, looking embarrassed.

“Oh my god”, Courfeyrac sighed, throwing his head back. “They are so disgusting. They’re worse than Prouvaire”.

“Hey!”, Jehan protested from where he was snuggled between Feuilly and Bahorel. “Don’t insult me like that”.

“See! Even Prouvaire thinks you’re disgusting”, Courfeyrac said matter-of-factly, pointing another accusatory finger at the pair.

“Leave them alone, Courf”, Combeferre said, dropping a kiss against his friend’s forehead. “It’s just the honey-moon stage. We should enjoy it while it lasts, before they enter the old married couple stage”.

“Have you _met_ them?”, Bahorel raised an eyebrow. “They’ve been going through the old married couple stage ever since they first laid eyes on each other”.

“I can’t argue with that”, Feuilly shrugged, clinking his bottle against Bahorel’s.

“Let us live”, Grantaire fake-pouted, pulling Enjolras closer to himself. “You’re all just jealous because we’re the first official couple in the group”.

“What about Marius and Cosette?”, Jehan asked.

“And Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta?”, Courfeyrac added.

“And Combeferre and Courfeyrac?”, Bossuet teased.

“We’re not really –“, Combeferre blushed, but before he could say anything else, Joly cut in.

“And Bahorel and Feuilly?”

“Hey! We’re not a couple!”, Bahorel protested, looking too embarrassed.

“And Prouvaire and Marius’ secret affair?”, Combeferre added seriously.

“Stop telling people that”, Marius complained pitifully, sounding frustrated. “Cosette believes it and she gets jealous”.

“I don’t get jealous”, Cosette retorted lovingly. “I just think that if it came down to Jehan or me, you’d be stupid to choose me over him”.

“You’re too lovely”, Jehan laughed gleefully, grabbing one of Cosette’s hands and dropping a kiss on the top of it.

“How are we the cheesy couple after all this?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire.

“They’re just glad we finally sorted our shits out and this is their dumb way of saying it”, Grantaire explained, dropping a quick kiss on Enjolras’ lips.

“Did we, though?”, Enjolras asked in a low voice so that only Grantaire could hear his words, which were smothered down by their friends’ continuous banter. Grantaire looked more serious at the words.

“We did”, he shrugged. “Kind of. There’s still a lot we have to go through”, he admitted.

“Like what?”, Enjolras asked with a patient smile.

“My self-esteem issues. Your god complex. Our communication problems. My current lack of a job”, he said vaguely.  “I won’t lie; there’s a long, _long_ path ahead of us”.

“There is”, Enjolras agreed, nodding solemnly.

“Are you in for the ride?”, Grantaire raised a mischievous eyebrow at him. He would have looked wittier without the dark bruises on his cheek and jaw and the bandage covering his broken nose, but Enjolras loved him all the same.

“Will you be with me?”, Enjolras asked, mimicking Grantaire’s eyebrow raise.

“Always”, Grantaire smiled, squeezing one of Enjolras’ hands.

“Then of course I’m in”, Enjolras said, connecting his lips with Grantaire and kissing him deeply. All the Amis immediately stopped bantering and cooed, some of them clapping and some of them booing.

“I can’t believe they’re forcing me to watch this”, Courfeyrac moaned pitifully, leaning his weight against Combeferre. “My own children! They grow up so fast”, he said, over-dramatically.

“You guys are traumatizing Courf on Christmas”, Combeferre reprimanded, sounding like a tired parent.

“It must have been the Christmas spirit that made these two finally get together”, Cosette commented, to which all the Amis nodded in agreement.

“Or maybe our conscious and free choices as two adult men?”, Enjolras suggested politely, not wanting to sound rude.

“Stop being a party pooper”, Jehan said sweetly. “We all know you two are anything but _adults_ when you’re near each other”.

“Except when they… well”, Bahorel commented, gesturing vaguely with his hands before trailing off.

“Ugh”, was all Courfeyrac managed, and Combeferre ran a comforting hand up and down the man’s back.

Grantaire and Enjolras smiled at their friends, snuggling closer to each other on the couch. It didn’t take Joly too long to finally let go of Grantaire’s arm and sit down on the floor beside Bossuet so that they could exchange their presents with each other. A deep feeling that this was just the beginning of a better time of his life invaded Grantaire, and perhaps Cosette was right all along and this really was the spirit of Christmas. Maybe it would all fade away once the holidays came to an end; maybe he would return to that gruesome state of emptiness and insecurity that had always haunted him. But having Enjolras sit beside him and embrace him and kiss him so freely, in front of everyone else, and having Enjolras’ eyes gazing tenderly at him were proof enough that this man wasn’t made of marble. He was flesh and bone, and if he was being true, then he was also made of love, a love which Grantaire was more than glad to return. They still had a lot of things to talk through and to figure out, many insecurities to overcome and a whole lot of problems to deal with. But for that night, and for the time being, things would be fine. That much Enjolras he could hope for, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was hoping.

And if there was one thing Grantaire was excellent at, it was believing in Enjolras.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I remember thinking "hey I should write a Christmas fic" and then my brain immediately went: "but how are you going to put angst on Christmas?!" so this is the result. Hope it's not too dreadful. It was either this or a Jesus Christ Superstar AU, and I don't think anybody would want that.  
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Kudos, thoughts and comments on this story are what keep me going, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.  
> You can always find me on tumblr as edema--ruh and on twitter as @girltaire (yes I changed my username!!)


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